Violence Recovery
by Buttons14
Summary: There is only so far you can go before you’ve had enough. The story of fourteen extraordinary teens who found something to live for. Each other. Rated for talk of abuse and language
1. The Invitation

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING! (see author's note for more details)

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons

**Genre: **Drama

**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)

**Summary:** 'There is only so far you can go before you've had enough. I guess for me, it was when my brother died. Not everything in life is certain, but some things definitely are: the feeling of needing to survive and of needing to get by ring clear.' The story of life after fleeing home and the support a stranger and friends can give you. They may not be perfect, but life isn't as hard anymore. Things will get better.

A/n: a shelter, like the one in the story, called LOVE, inspired this story. It is for teens suffering from domestic abuse, and the like. Please read and review. Plus, everyone says 'Buttons always writes short chapters!' well, this shows them! Three thousand-plus words! Muahahahahaha!

"_I change the world; the world changes me...everything you do comes back to you. When you affect a situation, you are also affected." –_Virginia Doyle, A Great and Terrible Beauty

**Chapter 1—The Invitation**

There comes the moment in everyone's life when they just wish to die.

Not die of embarrassment: when the coolest girl in school turns you down. Or even of shame: when you have that dream about forgetting your pants, except it's not a dream this time. Eventually you will forget these things. They will fade away, only to be remembered when skimming through your high school yearbook, or at your ten-year reunion. What I mean is more memorable. You'll never forget it. No matter what you do, there will always be the nagging plea for death.

0o0o0o0

Things at my home were always rocky. My mother couldn't settle down. She'd flitter from one man to the next in a pattern I could not decipher. She would stay with the worst ones the longest, leaving those who treated her (and us) the best. She pushed away everyone who was ever good to her, like she didn't deserve them.

Fine for me to say, all of this. I ran away after all.

But I had to.

My brother was dead. The asshole killed him and went for me.

The sight of him dead on the floor made me sick to my stomach. His fresh blood, his bruised skin, his open, blank and staring eyes. That's when I knew I wanted to die.

My brother's name was Lucas. My younger brother. My eight-year-old brother. He'd be nine now, I am sixteen and not sure what I'm doing.

Where did I run? Shelters, hostels, street corners. You never think about what it would be like, sitting on the corner with an old McDonalds cup, begging for change.

This has lasted for three months. It is October, threatening with the ever-close winter season.

"How would you like a warm bed and some food?" asks a passer-by.

I stare at him. He is middle-aged and thin, sparse hair, but still full of colour. His cheeks are pink and his breath forms a cloud between us.

I know we're always taught not to go with strangers, but there's nothing bad that could happen that hasn't already. I stand up and follow him.

0o0o0o0

He takes me to a large house on the outskirts of New York City.

The man owns it. His name is Bryan Denton.

"Welcome to the Violence Recovery Centre for Teens. Just say VRCT, for short."

The furniture is sparse, but that walls are covered in tacked-up photographs.

To the left of the entrance it a wooden staircase and to the right is a narrow hallway, also lined with photos.

There is a boy sitting on the steps when I come in. His eyes search my face before he stands up and steps towards me.

"I'm Jack," he says, offering his hand.

My fingers are cold, the tips of them numb, but I shake his hand and manage a weak smile.

"Jack," says Denton, removing his jacket and hanging it up, "go get the others, I want them to meet..."

He looks to me.

"Oh, it's Simon," I say quickly.

"I want them to meet Simon."

Then he leads me down the narrow hall and into a kitchen, which is colourful and spicy. There are three kids sitting at a table playing cards. They are quiet. The girl shifts here cards and sighs. The boys look up.

"Skittery, Andra, David, this is Simon."

Skittery smiles. He has brown-blonde hair that is to his chin. His eyes are large and green, and he has a gleaming pink scar under his left eye. When he stands, I see that he is very tall, his legs taking up most of his six-foot-plus height.

"I'll get the others," he offers.

"No, that's OK," says Mr. Denton, opening a can of soup and slopping it into a pot, "Jack's already gone."

Andra is shuffling her cards around again. Beneath her torn cargo pants and oversized t-shirt she looks tiny. Her brown hair is gleaming, reaching her shoulders and flipping out in a sixties style. Her eyes are dark and empty against her pale skin. She sniffs and wipes her nose on her sleeve. I can see bruises on her neck, purple and yellow.

The other boy, David, has opened a book beside him. His bright blue eyes dart across the page. His brown hair is curly and tight against his head. His shoulders are broad under his worn t-shirt.

I clench my hands together.

The boy called Jack enters the kitchen.

"They're coming," he tells us.

Mr. Denton stirs the soup. "I think we'll meet in the rec room. There'll be more room for us to sit."

The soup begins to simmer, sending the smell of broth and beef around the house. Mr. Denton looks to me.

"You're not allergic to anything, are you?" he asks.

I shake my head. I just want some soup. All I've eaten the last week is an apple, a couple bagels and a cup of coffee every morning. He pours the soup into a bowl and hands it to me along with a spoon.

Mr. Denton, Jack, Skittery, Andra, David and I leave to the hall and off to a larger room. It is painted with very white walls and bright lighting. There is an old pool table in the centre of it and a television surrounded by chairs and a couch to the side. The walls are covered in childish writing in blue, red and yellow.

"Those are our feelings," explains David softly when he notices me looking at them.

The scrawl reads different poems and words. _Hate, longing, fear, mistrust, judgment._

Mr. Denton stands in front of the TV and the rest of us sit on the seats provided. I hear a clamouring from upstairs. The first one in the room is a short girl. She has dark, wild frizzy hair and brown eyes. Her skin is pale and freckled. Around her thin neck she has tied a polka-dotted scarf and she is wearing jeans and a solid red shirt. She walks slowly to the seating area and sinks into the couch beside Andra. She eyes me carefully before talking.

"Autumn won't leave her room," she says very quietly.

Mr. Denton sighs and rubs his head. "Andra, will you get her please?"

Andra stands up shakily and proceeds to the door. On her way she brushes past another boy. The first thing I notice is his eye patch. It is brown and suede, the strap obvious against his blondish hair. He doesn't smile. He sits down gingerly on the edge of a chair and looks to Denton.

I sip my soup, relishing the smooth taste. It warms me up right to my stomach. I wolf it down. Upstairs I hear crying.

A tall woman appears at the door. She has wild red hair and wide green eyes. She looks distressed.

"Bryan, Autumn's done it again," she says.

Denton swears under his breath and rushes from the room. "Introduce yourselves. Simon, you'll meet the rest tomorrow and you'll room with Blink tonight. ."

Then he leaves, rushing towards the crying girl.

Jack looks around. "Well," he says slowly, "I'm Jack."

I nod. I knew that.

"And this is Skittery, we're the youth planners. Skittery is nineteen and I'm twenty. We're past sufferers of domestic violence."

Skittery smiles wanly.

Jack looks around. "Anyone else?"

David sighs. "I'm David. Sixteen."

The girl with the polka-dotted scarf speaks next. "Coin, also sixteen." She doesn't meet my eye.

The boy with the eye patch is Kid Blink, he's seventeen years old.

Jack checks the watch on his wrist. "It's getting late guys. Blink, show Simon the room, will you? I've got to get to bed early."

"How old are you Simon?" Blink asks me as we walk to the kitchen so I can put my bowl away.

"Sixteen," I say.

There's not a lot of talking here. Things are slow and delicate. I'm afraid to tell people what happened. Maybe they'll judge me. Maybe they won't care. Maybe everyone here is just hiding from what happened to them, afraid to face the real world.

Our room is small, only the size of a large walk-in closet. There are two twin-sized beds on either wall, with a window between them. At the ends are identical dressers with mirrors. Blink's side has photographs pinned up on it, just like the hallway downstairs. His dresser is littered with papers and a camera. Each bed is made with a thick quilt with red and yellow fabrics.

"That's your side," says Blink, pointing to the bed.

I sit down on it. He sits down across from me, on his.

"Dinner is at six-thirty," he tells me, "lunch is at twelve and breakfast is at seven-thirty on weekdays and at eight-thirty on weekends. We eat downstairs in the dining room. It's bigger than the kitchen, there's too many of us to eat in there."

"How many kids are there?" I ask.

"Including Denton, Medda, Skittery and Jack, there's almost twenty of us."

I look around. "And we can all fit in here?"

Blink shrugs. "Yeah, almost everyone shares a room. Denton and Medda's offices double as theirs."

My mouth forms an 'O'.

The eye that isn't hidden behind an eye patch is electric blue. He spots me looking at it.

"Wondering what happened?" he asks awkwardly.

I shrug. "I guess, kinda."

"School fight," he says. "Not that big of a deal for me really. A kid brought a gun to school. My best friend was shot right in front of me." His voice doesn't quaver.

I'm surprised he tells me this so readily.

"Don't worry. I can talk about it. Denton and Medda help us with that kind of thing. What happened to you?" He stares at me, scoping me for injuries and the like.

I swallow and choke over my story. He told me, I feel it's my duty to tell him. "My mom's boyfriend beat my brother and me. He beat Lucas to death."

Saying Lucas's name brings a chill to my spine. It's like I can only remember it all now. It floods back in. All the memories.

Out of his drawers Blink pulls a pair of pyjama bottoms and a white t-shirt. "They're a bit big, but it will do for now," he says, handing them to me.

I change in the corner and then crawl into bed. Blink turns the light out. "You'll meet everyone else tomorrow," he tells me.

I nod and shut my eyes. Sleep comes easily and when it does, so do the nightmares.

0o0o0o0

In the morning the room is bright. My nightmare ebbs away, leaving me with my thoughts.

Blink is still sleeping. His eye patch is still on and I feel a Pandora's box sensation, curious to know what's under it.

The clock on Blink's dresser reads seven in the morning. I'm not sure what day of the week it is, I haven't been keeping track. The nights on the street corner seemed endless.

I climb out of bed and pull on my pants, which are well worn and covered in grime. It strikes me that I haven't changed, or even bathed, since I ran away.

I find my way downstairs and to the kitchen where Mr. Denton is sitting at the table reading the newspaper. The coffee pot is on, filling the room with its comforting aroma. He smiles when he sees me.

"Simon, there's fruit and yoghurt in the fridge or you can make a bagel or some toast."

My mouth waters. I swallow. "No, that's OK. Can I just take a shower?" I can't believe that I'm so calm. Like nothing's wrong at all.

Denton stands up and leads me down the hall. As we go, he talks.

"The boys' bathroom is on the second floor and the girls' is on the third," he opens the door to a closet and pulls out a clean towel. "Later today I'll be taking you out to get clothes. The others will be in classes with Medda and the boys' teacher, Mr. Seitz."

We climb the stairs and pass many more doors, all shut. Some of them read names: Crutchy, Boots, Jack, Skittery.

The bathroom is at the end of the hall, just past a staircase, which I presume leads to the girls' rooms. The house is very tall and very long.

The bathroom is painted navy blue and has three sinks on a long counter, a toilet, and a shower stall. Mr. Denton shows me where the soap and shampoo are, gives me a toothbrush, and shuts the door after he leaves.

There are plastic cups along the counter. Two blue ones, a green one, three red ones, and two yellow ones. Some of them have razors in them and they all have names. Jack, Skittery, Kid Blink, David, Crutchy, Boots, Racetrack.

I turn the shower on and let the steam fill the room. When I step in I feel the shock of the warmth hitting my flesh, but suddenly my skin is breathing again and open. I turn the water off and towel and dress myself. Then I squeeze the tube of toothpaste onto my toothbrush and scrub at my teeth. I spit and stare at myself in the mirror. Large blue eyes stare back, blinking strongly. My hair looks lighter, longer than before. It hangs in clumps, the beginnings of dreadlocks. My jaw bone is more defined and a shadowing of hair grows on my cheeks and upper lip.

I sigh and rinse my toothbrush off, leaving it at the side of the sink.

When I finally open the door I find someone waiting. I bump into them.

It is a tall boy. He has purple bags under his brown eyes. His hair is cut close and there is stubble growing on the chin of his dark-skinned face.

"Sorry to take so long," I say, suddenly embarrassed.

He shrugs and steps in the door.

Downstairs I hear a clattering of dishes. A smell wafts upwards. It is an aroma I haven't smelt in the longest time. The smell of bacon and eggs, toast, juice. All of it. I follow my nose to the basement and into a dining room. There are six girls and six boys, all still in their pyjamas, which are plaid pants and shirts. Many of them I don't know. I stand in the door, waiting to be introduced. Jack's the one who sees me.

"Simon, hi, come take a seat," he says cheerfully.

I sit down beside him, Denton sees me and grins.

"OK guys, introduce yourselves to Simon, will you? Please try to make him feel comfortable."

Simultaneously, they all lean inwards and look to me. Skittery, Jack, David and Coin all introduce themselves again.

"I'm Sapphy," says one girl, who is surprisingly cheerful compared to everyone else around here. She has straight blonde hair, which hangs to her back. Her face is very pale and looks short from where I view her, though that could be only because she is sitting. Her eyes are very blue, an obvious state that jumps out at me immediately, as through they're a force.

The next to introduce himself is a boy named Crutchy. He sits on the end of the table with a wooden crutch propped up on the table's wooden edge. He has curly brown hair and a long crooked nose. His upper body is narrow and tall. He smiles. Together Sapphy and he throw me off the impression I'd gotten about this place. They're cheerful and outgoing. The others seem withdrawn and depressed, as would be expected.

Then there's Ele, who is wearing a sweater over her t-shirt. She has choppy brown hair, cut randomly in a way that leads me to suspect she did it herself. Her eyes were blank as she said her name, she sipped at her orange juice.

"I'm Racetrack," says a short boy who has deep bags under his eyes. His hair is dark brown and greasy, his nose narrow and his face round.

Meanwhile the boy who I held up the bathroom from has entered. "Yeah, I'm Boots," he says, sitting down beside a thin, pale girl with wild and curly auburn hair.

"And I'm Charley," she says reluctantly. I can't make eye contact with her, she scowls.

The last girl doesn't introduce herself, Sapphy has to instead. "That's Autumn," she tells me.

Autumn doesn't look up. She has dark blue hair, obviously dyed, which is wavy and long, covering most of her face, but I can see one light brown, almost hazel eye. She wears two leather wristbands, which are worn and fading.

"And I'm Medda," says the red-haired woman I saw last night. She is wearing all purple and has her hair piled on top of her head and secured with chopsticks.

I look around slowly. Medda scoops eggs onto my plate. The others dig in.

**End Chapter**

I got really excited about this story and that's why I posted so fast. I will probably not update again for two weeks, but nothing's certain, I may get excited again. It all depends, really.

I would like to thank Coin, Inquisitive, Nakaia Aidan-Sun, C.M. Higgins, Sapphy, Dreamer110, Utopia Today and Shooter O'Brien for providing me with characters.


	2. Cameras Capture Emotions

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons

**Genre: **Drama

**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)

A/n: Thank you everyone who reviewed. This second chapter is just Spot's first day and such. I'm sorry to update so late, but I was trying to make it long. I can't even get online! In fact, I'm not even updating this! My good friend Almatari is!

_You never see the bad days in a photo album, but it is those days that get us form one happy snapshot to the next. _–Anonymous

**Chapter 2—Cameras Capture Emotions**

Denton has an old red Plymouth sedan. I sit in the passenger seat, next to him. Out the window the dingy streets fly by, unstopping and depressing.

We pull up in front of a run-down building. The shop front is grimy and the heading over the door reads 'Salvation Army'.

Once inside Denton hands me forty dollars.

"Use it on clothes," he says, "I won't try to influence your style, but choose sensible things."

I tuck the bills into the grungy pocket of my jeans and head for the racks.

The pants are all freshly washed, pressed and identically hung. There is a whole table covered in neatly folded t-shirts, as well as a bin filled with hats.

Pants are five dollars, shirts are three and hats are fifty cents apiece.

I scour the racks. Cords, hideous plaid pants, pinstriped slacks and old jeans.

I take off pairs of pants, doing the math in my head. Four pants if twenty dollars, two hats for one dollar, six shirts and I'll have a dollar left for a belt.

I hoist clothes off the racks and throw them over my shoulder. A pair of black slacks, jeans with holes in the knees, a plain black shirt, a deep purple shirt with graphic design, a green one, a red one, a thick black leather belt—a few inches too long—and two knitted toques, one black and one grey.

Denton is talking to the cashier. They seem to know each other. I unload my arms onto the countertop and smile sheepishly.

We wait.

"Mr. Denton," I say after a while, "how did you know I was a...victim?" I ask.

He shrugs and watched the cashier bag my clothes. "Simon, I've been doing this for years. I can tell when a kid is in trouble. I can identify it. It's the way you sit, hold yourself. Compare the others to kids you see on the streets. Something's dead in their eyes, but something else is born. A hatred. A thirst."

0o0o0o0

The house was quiet, but for soft murmurs of voices below. Denton and I descended the stairs. We passed the large downstairs kitchen, which was attached to the dining room and through the dark hallways, closer to the voices.

Ele was sitting in the hall between two closed doors wearing a navy blue long-sleeved sweater and scruffy jeans.

"You OK Ele?" asked Denton lightly.

She looked from him to me and nodded. "Just getting some quiet," she said in a soft voice.

Denton pushed one of the doors open and we stepped inside.

The boys were sitting at desks. The room looked much like a preschool class with bright colours and large pictures. There was an older man at the front. He had long white sideburns and a round, red face.

The class stopped.

Now that everyone had changed into their day clothes the room looked ironic. Most of them dressed in dark colours. Boots wore black sweat pants and a grey t-shirt, Crutchy wore brown—slightly tattered—pants and a heavy black sweater, David wore probably the only colour in the room, a blur dress shirt and neat black slacks. Blink still had his eye patch, as well as dark jeans and a dark army print shirt. Worse was Racetrack, who wore a pair of those plaid pants, a tweed vest, and a black t-shirt.

I could feel their eyes on me.

"Hello Mr. Seitz, this is Simon," said Denton brightly.

Mr. Seitz smiled. "I trust you'll be joining my class then?" he asked.

I wasn't sure, but I nodded anyways.

Denton explained that Mr. Seitz was the hired teacher for the boys and Medda worked with the girls. "I only went to school for psychology, whereas Medda attended school for teaching."

I nodded again. We stayed a talked for a while, putting the lesson on hold while we spoke to Mr. Seitz, who I have decided is a nice guy. He is cheerful and likes kids. Then Mr. Denton let me go to my room and put away my clothes.

I also changed while I was there. I put on one of the jeans and the green shirt. I pulled the belt through my belt loops and buckled it up. After a while Blink came up.

"Hi," he said, flinging a notebook onto his bed. He picked up his camera from his dresser and fiddled with it. "Got new clothes?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said.

Awkward silence. But really, what am I supposed to say to him?

"Denton'll find you a camera too," Blink told me, turning the lens on me and adjusting the zoom.

"So," I asked, "you all have cameras?"

"Uh huh," said Blink without surfacing from behind the body. "It helps us unleash our frustration into something creative and productive. For example, one of the first pictures I ever took was of a fire escape, symbolizing my feeling of entrapment, like there was no getaway from the world I was in. As we are here longer we become more secure and the type of pictures that we take change. Denton and Medda can relate with us when we put our feelings into pictures and it's easier to explain ourselves."

I nodded. So we were kinda like graded on our pictures? The only pictures I ever took were at birthday parties and stuff like that. How was I supposed to find symbolism for what I'm feeling?

"It's easier than you think," Blink told me.

0o0o0o0

Denton called me down to his office. It is in the basement and is bright.

"I like the light," Denton told me. "Nothing should be left out in the dark."

This made my skin crawl.

He passed me a change of pyjamas, a heavy—but worn—coat, and a weighty camera. The camera had sharp metallic switches and gleamed in the light of his office.

"There is film in my office, I'm always fully stocked, just help yourself. Feel free to post your pictures anywhere around the building, but respect the others' space too. The darkroom is down the hall and you need to book hours at a time. There is a time table on the door, just sign your name up."

I nodded.

"Your first roll of film I want to see. It will help me get an idea of who you are and how you feel, OK?"

Just like Blink had said. I nodded again.

I clutched the pile in my hands. They were warm and the room was hazy in the bright lights. The fabric of the pyjama bottoms was soft and smelt of detergent and the coat was tough and sturdy.

"Thank you so, so much sir," I whispered.

An image of my brother lying on the floor flashed before my eyes. I shut them and wished it away.

"Dinner is in ten minutes," Denton said, though softly, having noticed my cringe. "Go drop those off and meet in the dining room."

0o0o0o0

On my way upstairs I stop in the hall. The pictures on the wall are various. Some are in black and white, some colour. Some are blurry, others sharply focused and others still wispy and artistic. There is a picture of a subway grate, a broken window, a tree recently struck by lightening, a busy construction zone and a fire escape. Blink's fire escape.

It is in colour, the background the solid red brick wall, and the metal escape harsh and black. It is looking up at an angle, making it longer and unending. The feeling of suffocation reaches my chest, but disappears when I look away.

There are many photos of random, but meaningful things. Of fire hydrants and abandoned factories, but none of people. No one in the house is displayed on the walls. Not Denton, Medda, Jack or Skittery. None of the kids, not Mr. Seitz. I run my hand over the photos, causing them to scatter and ruffle. They'll post their feelings of entrapment, mistrust and judgement, but not of relief, rejoice and safety? Aren't they happy to be here? To be found and rescued?

I guess so, but no one has been taught what it's like to be loved. So I guess they wouldn't have been taught how to display it.

0o0o0o0

Dinner is loud. I didn't think it would be, but by the end of the day everyone has given up being defensive and has begun talking. It is at this time that I am reminded of a summer camp.

There is a thin cloud of heat hanging over all the food. There are hot buns and pasta and steamed beans and potatoes. Everyone is chattering to others and digging in. Except for Autumn. She stares at her plate and doesn't talk.

"How was your first day?" asked Jack, shovelling potatoes onto his plate.

I shrugged. "OK."

I notice that the girls don't eat much, but that the boys are unwavering in their appetites.

"I booked the darkroom after dinner, but you can use it if you want," Sapphy is saying to Coin, who is wearing a black-and-white polka dotted skirt and a black t-shirt.

We are like a mix of medias. Some of us look like artists, like Andra or Sapphy, others could be bookworms and studious, such as David and Skittery. Coin and is the trend-setter and Racetrack is so behind that it's cool. Charley is the withdrawn rocker and Autumn is the misunderstood beauty. Ele and Boots are hard to read, but always there and constant. Crutchy is the optimist and Blink is the support system. In a strange way, out mosaic makes us stronger. The girls don't all trust us, but us being here helps.

All of a sudden I know what I want my first picture to be of.

**End Chapter**

((I know everyone probably expected this to be longer, but too bad! No, I'm joking, the real reason is that couldn't get on the computer or online. I _have_ written twenty-eight pages, but they are all over the place so it wouldn't make sense to type them all up and add them. No way anyone would understand them.))

**Shoutouts**

Once again, I couldn't get online and therefore I couldn't read reviews and _therefore_ I couldn't write proper shoutouts. (sigh)

**C.M. Higgins**

**Sapphy**

**Erin Go Bragh**

**Utopia Today**

**Shooter O'Brien**

**Inquisitive**

**Coin**

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun**

**Dreamer110**


	3. Aurora

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons

**Genre: **Drama

**Rating: **PG-13 (subject to change)

A/n: Welcome Chapter 3! Everyone make Aurora feel special, since this is her namesake chapter. Don't worry all you OCs, she won't be the only one. Oops, I've said too much.

_You may have created my past and destroyed my present, but you have no control over my future. _–Anonymous

**Chapter 3—Aurora**

The days have passed, the October air chilling and freezing steadily into November. I have gotten a nickname, 'Spot', being the smallest and the boldest. 'Like a spot on the damage,' someone said.

It is a week until Thanksgiving, when we will take a trip.

"We go every year," Jack tells me over breakfast, pouring syrup onto his waffles.

"Where?" I ask through a mouthful of pancake and banana.

"It's a cottage resort up North," he says. "It's called Sunshine Falls."

"Oh." I swallow.

The table is full. Everyone is in their matching pyjamas, and talking in soft voices. My picture hangs over Jack's head. The colours are full and warm. The faces still and unwavering, paused in mid-conversation, unknowing of me, the silent shooter. We were eating pizza for dinner. They scatter the table. Denton is saying something to Crutchy, whose eyes are wide. Charley is peeling the pepperonis off of her slice and Ele is reaching for a pitcher of juice.

_Family. _It is scrawled on the wall beneath the picture.

Sapphy sees me looking at it. She smiles.

0o0o0

The house is warm. Our room is crowded and cozy. The windows are frosted and, at the doors, our bags are packed for Sunshine Falls tomorrow. The halls are quiet. There is no music, just the occasional footstep or rustle of movement. Feet hit the steps repeatedly and quickly.

"Spot, Blink," it's Skittery at out door, "come down, there's a new girl."

Blink and I follow Skittery to the steps where he pauses. In the foyer we see two men and a girl. Her head is down and the men are speaking to Denton. One of them has very blonde hair and the other is wearing a funny hat. The girl is wrapped in a blanket, when it falls her shoulder is bare.

Denton sees us at the steps. "Come along boys," he says clearly. We jump up and follow.

He leads the men and the girl into the kitchen, much like he had me.

Skittery, Blink and I crane our necks to better see the girl. She is medium height and is very skinny. Her brown hair hangs to her collarbone and her bare hands are pale. Her lips are bluish and her eyes quaver restlessly, as of she is dreaming.

"This is Dutchy and Specs," says Denton, indicating the men. "They used to stay here. Over two years ago." They smile.

Skittery appears to know them. He talks to Specs for a while as Dutchy tells Denton about the girl.

Meanwhile she has taken a seat at the table. Blink and I sit beside her.

"I'm Blink," says Blink, "and this is Spot.

I wave lamely. "Hi."

She doesn't look up. "I'm Aurora," she says, "and this is Jules."

She gestures to the air beside her. Blink and I exchange looks.

Aurora wipes her nose on her sleeve. Her eyes dart up and back down again, just a flicker. "Danny came back," she tells us, though we have no idea who Danny is, "but he was older and he hurt me."

Blink and I exchange looks again, only this time concerned ones.

Outside the snow has begun to fall. The lights are on and the kitchen is filling with the smell of soup. I can hear the TV in the next room.

No one says anything. Blink claws on the skin around his cuticle, Aurora wraps a strand from the blanket around her finger and I watch the steady flow of snowflakes. It is almost tranquil, unless I stopped to wonder the reason for Aurora being here.

Denton places a bowl of soup in front of Aurora. She stares into it, raising her head a little so I can see a fresh cut under her left eye. Her lip is swollen and chapped, bleeding slightly. Her cheek is purpling slowly, growing a bruise.

"Spot, Blink, could you boys go up to the girls' rooms and get Andra and Autumn please."

We leave Aurora alone at the table with her soup and 'Jules'.

I have never been to the girls' hall before. The hall is painted navy blue and the doorframes are fuchsia. There are swirls and design on the walls in blues, barely noticeable in the dark like this. The boys' hall is plain white, as well as our doorframes.

Blink and I stop at the first door and knock.

Charley opens the door. She is wearing a thick, hooded ACDC sweater and her pyjama bottoms. The room behind her looks like ours, the central window, two beds, two dressers. Ele is lying on one of the beds reading. However, the room is much different than ours. The window creates a centre of a yellow sunflower, whose petals stretch widely, onto the ceiling and invading the walls. Instead of being rounded, the tips of the petals are tattered, turning slowly to grey and becoming angry black clouds.

Charley looks from Blink to me. "What's going on?" she asks.

"There's a new girl," I say.

"We need Andra and Autumn," says Blink.

"Down the hall," Charley points, "second door on the left." And she shut the door.

I realize now that I have not been many places in the building. The basement, bathroom, rec room, kitchen, my room and Denton's office. That's about it.

We knock on Andra and Autumn's door, which has a large chalkboard nailed onto it. I hear a scuffling, a loud thumping and Andra cursing before she opens the door. Autumn is sitting on the windowsill, right where the jagged line of paint meets. One side is fire and the other is water. They clash viciously down the middle of the room in blasts of reds and blues.

"Denton wants you two, there's a new girl," Blink is saying as I admire the reds, oranges, crimsons, whites, blues, greens and sea-foams.

Autumn stands up slowly, pulling her baggy sleeves over her wristbands, she brushes past us, following Andra out the door.

Aurora is still at the kitchen table, staring into her soup, when we arrive. Denton has taken a seat at the table and is trying to talk to her. Her hair covers her face.

Andra, Autumn, Blink and I wait until he is done. When he is, he clears his throat and turns to us.

"Andra, you will be rooming by yourself from now on," he tells her calmly and firmly. Andra nods. "And Autumn, you'll be sharing your room with Aurora here. Please take her up and tell her the rules. Maybe lend her a change of clothes as well."

Aurora looks at them for a while before miming taking someone's hand. "Let's go Jules," she says softly, following Andra and Autumn to the stairs. The whole thing makes me shiver.

0o0o0

"Think that we won't go up to Sunshine Falls?" asks Blink sleepily after the lights have gone off.

I shift under my covers. "I don't know," I say, "I've never been before."

Blink rolls onto his back. "You'll like it. It's cozy. You'll like Lyra and Ethan too, they're nice." A yawn escapes his lips and he struggles to restrain it. "Sorry," he murmurs.

"Do _you_ think Denton and Medda'll cancel?" I ask. "Because of Aurora?"

Blink sighs. "I don't know. She's not to stable, is she. They might want to make sure that she's OK. But going to Sunshine Falls is a VRCT tradition. It's a time off school and it's when we get to relax and act like regular kids."

_Regular kids._

"We're not that irregular."

Blink's breathing is steady. "Don't kid yourself Spot, we're not normal. We never will be either."

I swallow. "G'night Blink."

"Goodnight Spot, see you tomorrow."

**End Chapter**

((What's up everyone? Ready for Sunshine Falls? Good, I already have lots written for it. Please review!))

**Shoutouts: **(for chapters one and two)

**C.M. Higgins—**(_Chapter 1) _I don't know what Autumn did. She's a cutter, so she probably was doing that. I was thinking of something, but I forget what it was now. Thanks for all the happy words! Yay! _(Chapter 2) _Wouldn't it be awesome to work for National Geographic? They have the best pictures. I read one of their books on photography. It's very interesting!

**Sapphy—**_(Chapter 1)_ If I need to, I'm sure you wouldn't mind having a relationship with Race, right? Just in case I need to do something later. _(Chapter 2)_ Maybe I should put something in about you. being a stalker. Yeah, that sounds good. Nah, just kidding, but your review made me smile.

**Erin Go Bragh—**_(Chapter 1) _As you can see, your character is still going to make it in. I was thinking about adding in some slash, but it will be light and not related to Spot. I hope your competition was good, even if it was a while ago. _(Chapter 2)_ Thanks. I try to make each chapter signifigant, like a mini-story, so endings are very important. I do own a camera, and I love it. It's very professional (a Canon 2000 Rebel). I know what you mean with the Ocs, but hopefully I'll be able to really define them soon.

**Utopia Today—**_(Chapter 1) _I'm going to be adding Ethan in at Sunshine Falls, I hope that's OK. He'll be around twenty. If there's any problems, just send me an email or review.

**Shooter O'Brien—**_(Chapter 1) _There used to be girls at my old school who called themselves the girlie girls or Barbies. It was scary. _(Chapter 2) _Look! It's Aurora! Yay! My friend got a digital camera for Christmas last year and she's always sneaking pictures of me. The bum. The thing about you taking pictures of the sky is interesting. Can I use that for Aurora? I have a friend named Aurora. Uh. Yeah.

**Inquisitive—**_(Chapter 1) _I'm very happy I'm getting Autumn well. Just tell me if something's off! Thanks! _(Chapter 2) _Your reviews are so sweet! Short and sweet, they make me feel happy.

**Coin—**_(Chapter 1) _Yay! Angst! _(Chapter 2) _To be honest, I hadn't even thought of the Denton thing. I just like photography. I tried to join a course, but I wasn't old enough. That sucks. I feel it's important to add the polka-dot thing for you because it adds character.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**_(Chapter 1) _You had to wait for more. It took me a while to update. Sorry. _(Chapter 2) _No, I don't mind. what exactly did you do though? I'm curious. And honoured! Keep me updated on your novel or I'll get...angry. Uh, yeah. 'Angry.'

**Dreamer110—**_(Chapter 1) _Aw! Thanks! I always think I rush people into the story. Like I'm just trying to shove them on and get it over with. _(Chapter 2)_ It never matters what decade it is, Race has to have his clothes. It's just not right if he doesn't. Think about it. I love the camera thing too, I love photos!

**Kid Blink's Dreamer—**_(Chapter 2) _You're speechless? Aw! Yay! (does a happy dance)

**Attention !!! **The more info everyone puts into their reviews, the better idea I get of their character. Don't be afraid to tell me little things that you like or dislike. It's like my research! The more I know, the more I can write.


	4. Sunshine Falls

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title:** Violence Recovery

**Author:** Buttons

**Genre: **Drama

**Rating:** PG-13 (subject to change)

_Sunshine falls, show me where your conscience hides in winter's eyes--_Forever Moon, She's So Cold

**Chapter 4--Sunshine Falls**

In the morning we move our bags down to the foyer. Soon there is almost no room to move around because of the many duffle bags, blankets and pillows.

Medda puts us to work making breakfast and Denton takes Aurora out top get clothes. Jack and Skittery recruit Boots and David to help them load the cars.

When Denton comes back with Aurora, she is humming and talking to someone standing over her shoulder.

Jules, I presume?

In the middle of the foyer, on top of all our bags, Aurora empties her new purchases. Next she shoves them into a bright yellow and black duffle bag. Denton brings her a green, brown and white retro skit jacket and a set of pyjamas. She places the pyjamas lovingly on top of her bag and pulls the coat on excitedly.

"Look Jules!" she cries, "a jacket!" She blinks her large eyes at Denton. "Thanks you so much!" she says, carrying out the 'so' like a cartoon character.

Denton chuckles and assures her it was no problem.

Aurora is insanely bubble, but I think maybe that's just plain insanity.

The cars are loaded, and soon we are climbing into them. Blink and I slide into the backseat of Skittery and Jack's car.

Blink sticks his head out the door and calls out to Racetrack. "Oi, Race! Come with us!"

Racetrack looks up. He shrugs and climbs into Denton's van after Sapphy. Boots climbs in ours instead ad Jack turns to key in the ignition.

We pull away from home.

Oh. _Home_.

0o0o0o0o0

Jack and Skittery have always been friendly. The car is rather small, but no one seems to mind. We keep steady conversation. After a few hours we stop at a gas station where I buy a bottle of Coke, Blink gets an ice cream bar and Jack smokes a couple of cigarettes.

Skittery is on his cell phone with Denton.

We all probably just look like five friends on a road trip for Thanksgiving weekend.

0o0o0o0o0

Sunshine Falls is very beautiful. The trees are all reds and oranges, if they are not bare yet. The cabins all face a small lake, whose water is clear and smooth. There are canoes, kayaks and paddleboats lined up on the shore. The dock reaches out to the water, floating calmly on the surface.

A woman greets us at the office. She wears jeans and a dark t-shirt. Her brown hair hangs to her mid-back and glasses frame her eyes. Her face was happy, if a little tired. She smiles as we climb out of the vans and cars.

Medda approaches and embraces her. "Lyra!" she exclaims fondly.

Lyra brushes her bangs out of her eyes and looks to us.

"Ah, most of you came back," she says brightly, surveying the group slowly.

Denton introduces Aurora, Coin and I.

She led everyone into the main lodge. It has a dozen old tables, which could be pushed together for dinners. There are two couches and a small TV with a VCR.

We sit down at the tables and face Lyra.

"Welcome to Sunshine Falls everyone," she says.

I can see a tall, thin man standing behind the check-in counter.

"My name is Erin Gillman," continues Lyra, "but I would rather be called 'Lyra', please. I used to live at VRCT. I went there when I was sixteen after experiencing…uh…domestic violence. Every Thanksgiving the kids, Denton and Medda come up here and we do activities that help you all learn to trust each other."

A few of the others shoot each other looks that are accompanied with a smile.

"And this is Ethan Cooke, who also stayed at VRCT for almost four years."

The man steps forward and the light hits his messy brown-blonde curls. Freckles scatter his nose and upper cheeks. He wears navy blue sweat pants and a striped, fitted golf t-shirt.

Lyra continues with the rules before asking Denton if we have our rooms.

Denton nods and reads names off of a lust. Of course, Jack and Skittery are together, then Andra, Autumn and Aurora, and Coin, Charley, Ele and Sapphy. The boys' rooms are Race, Boots and I, and Blink, Crutchy and David.

Lyra and Ethan give everyone their own key and allows us to find our cabins and unpack before lunch.

0o0o0o0o0

When we've finished unpacking we head down to the lodge for lunch.

There is a long table, much like the one at VRCT. Coin is helping Medda, Lyra and Ethan pour soup into bowls and make various types of sandwiches. Two platters of sandwiches and sleeves of crackers are placed on the table.

"Come! Everyone take a bowl of soup," calls Lyra, gesturing to the steaming bowls on the counter.

We all eat cheerfully and after lunch we lay poker and watch old Indiana Jones movies until dinner.

When I go to bed it is with a satisfying affection. I feel warm, fed and belonging.

0o0o0o0

It is late at night when I wake up. A screen door clicks shut softly and something rustles outside.

Racetrack isn't in his bed.

The sheets are wild and tangled, but he is missing from the mess. I slouch out of bed and to the front window.

When I look outside I can't see anything. The night is dark and still, the coldness having sucked all the leaves from the nearby trees. I can see the bluish-white glint of the water in the distance, free of ripples and perfectly clear.

I look around the cabin. The care grey tabletop, the mismatched couch, the fat, short fridge. And the coat hooks, one coat short.

_Suicide._

The word flashed through my head. That's where Racetrack is.

A breeze floats through the property, ruffling the grounded foliage. The water wavers lightly and becomes still again.

I whisk my coat off the rack and swing the door shut behind me. I am halfway down the walk to the beach when I realize that I am barefoot. I continue down the path with only minor hesitation. The ground is hard but smooth and my feet pad lightly and surely.

When I reach the beach everything is still. Somewhere nearby and owl calls into the night. There is a strange and eerie unmoving aspect to the lake, its water glassy and fake.

The canoes and kayaks are all flipped over, lying in glistening roundness on the shore. On the platform of the slide, with their legs hanging over, are Racetrack and Sapphy.

I rush beneath them and call up.

"Racetrack! Don't jump!"

He looks down and his eyes grow wide.

"Spot? What are you doin' here?"

"Don't jump!" I say again.

"I am not going to _jump_," he calls down.

I relax, resting my heels on the ground. I suddenly realize that I was standing on the balls of my feet. My calf muscles ache.

Sapphy at Racetrack and then she looks down.

"Come up," she calls to me in a kind tone.

I hear Racetrack whisper something to her, but I can't make out any words. The stairs to the slid jump are steep and cold. They have little metal grips on them that are rough and sharp. They cut into my feet and make them tinge.

Sapphy moves over so that her feet are angled down the slide. My legs hang over the steps and Racetrack sits between us. My feet are beginning to numb from the cold.

"So," I sigh, trying to sound casual, "why are you both up here?"

Behind me Sapphy shifts.

Racetrack clears his throat. "We…uh…"

"Race and I are dating."

Dating? How can they be dating? Where would they go? Where would they get money to go anywhere?

"Well, we haven't actually gone anywhere on a date," says Racetrack awkwardly. "This was supposed to be our first one."

Suddenly I am struck with the uncomfortable unease of intrusion. I open my mouth to apologize and excuse myself, but Racetrack continues.

"What are _you_ doing out here?"

How stupid would if sound if I actually told them I thought Racetrack was going to commit suicide? That would ruin any date.

"I don't know. Just on a walk, that's all."

No questions.

"So…I'd better be going."

I move to go back down the stairs when a smooth and squeaky noise comes and Sapphy is standing below me on the ground. Racetrack goes next, and me last, my dirty, tingling feet leading my way. My feet hit the cool sand and I look at Race and Sapphy, holding hands and standing closely.

"See you in the morning," I say, allowing the words to hang in the air as I turn to go.

Back at the cabin I crawl into bed with my jacket still on. I lay awake for a while and about half an hour later a faint memory of Racetrack enters the room, almost silently and slides under his covers.

Secrecy.

I won't tell, I promise. They didn't ask me not to, but I have a feeling they don't want anyone to know. Everything takes time.

End Chapter 

((Yeah, I know I promised an update soon, so here it is. I hope you're not all mad at me! If you are please forgive me!!!

So, as you all see, there's a little _relationship_ between Race and Sapphy…see what cramming little info and quirks into your reviews will do?))

**Shoutouts: **

**C.M. Higgins—**I actually didn't mean to imply that Andra and Autumn didn't get along, it was just the way I wanted to portray the room. Maybe I'll work that in though…Sunshine Falls is actually based on a place I spent _my_ Thanksgiving this year.

Unfortunately, my camera is broken. I can't turn it on, so now I have to take it in to Henry's. I really wanted to use it on Christmas because my uncles were dancing. Chinese guys have no rhythm. Really.

**Erin Go Bragh—**Yes, you _were_ mentioned and you're even in this chapter! Cool. I love slash too, but I find I'm not as good at writing it. However, I would read it 24/7 if I could.

**Sapphy—**Aw, Sapphy, I love you! You're going to be Aurora's friend (shoves you two together)

I hope you like the Racetrack thing, thought that would make you happy. I already have a whole sub-plot written for it.

Blink: Hey, I don't mean normal like cheerleader normal, I mean normal like I can go out in public without fear and with less paranoia about people I meet. _That_ kind of normal. However, that's not always true to all of you…

Lastly, I LOVE Les Mis! My friend thinks I sing like Eponine. I totally hate Marius though. Especially when 'Ponine dies. What the hell. Honestly…

**Utopia Today—**Updates quick…uh…yeah (tugs at collar) Thanks for reviewing thought Please don't be mad!

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**that's so sweet of you to say. I get a lot of my story ideas when I'm driving because we pass so much stuff and there's so much to see. I also get ideas reading magazines and newspapers, which is where this idea came from. Tell me how the super hero thing is going!

**Kid Blink's Dreamer—**I think Aurora _did_ have a traumatic experience. In fact, I know she did…you will learn no more! Thanks for the compliments!

**Shooter O'Brien—**Actually, I babysit a girl named Julia and sometimes we call her Jules. Now, however, I'm going to keep thinking of Aurora's Jules and that will scare me. The demon child.

Don't worry, you're tons of help.

**Coin—**I promise not to make her father a drunk. There are too many characters with alcoholic pasts/traumatic experiences, so I will very happily cut that out (EVERYONE: but if you're character _does_ have something to do with alcohol, it's fine. Don't worry about offering a change. I'll make it work!)

I loved that you used the word 'irk'. My friend uses it all the time and it cracks me up.

**Madison Square—**Thanks very much. I think it's because my new English teacher is evil. If that makes any sense. She doesn't like how I write, so my style changes, but keeps all descriptive still. She doesn't like descriptiveness, she likes stuff to be to the point.

I'm positive that I sent you an application at the beginning, but the email wouldn't go through or something ridiculous like that, but I can't accept anyone else right now. However, I will be writing some new stories when these are done, so I can send you an 'application' then.

**Dreamer110—**I loved that insight! ACDC are cool and I love the girls' rooms too. I thought it would be interesting to give them all really creative rooms like that. Thanks for noticing and commenting like that.

I don't really think that Aurora will be an antagonist. She's just a little unstable, especially after just arriving in a new home.

**Inquisitive—**Thanks! I will keep it up…I hope…

**Spell—**Sorry! I don't have AIM! In fact, my Internet is down right now. I'm so happy you like this fic so much!

Wasn't A Great and Terrible Beauty awesome?

Sorry to take so long for the update.


	5. Racetrack

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** PG-13 (subjects to change)

_I think high self-esteem is overrated. A little low self-esteem is actually quite good…Maybe you're not the best, so you should work a little harder._—Jay Leno

**Chapter 5—Racetrack**

In the morning my feet are caked in dirt. My jacket is pressed against my face, sticky and rough. I tread lightly to the bathroom and rinse them off. When I come out, Boots is sitting at the kitchen table.

"Hogging the bathroom again?" he tries to joke, but no emotion travels to his eyes. They are forever vapid and cold.

I smile and attempt a laugh. It comes out like a croak.

"Cold last night?" he asks next.

I shrug and take off my coat, replacing it on the coat rack.

The white sheets on my bed are stained in brownish-black dirt. I heave the covers off. Racetrack is still sleeping with a smile on his face.

Someone knocks on our front door briskly three times. Boots answers it and Denton steps in.

"Morning," he says, his eyes darting around the room in silent inspection.

"Morning," I say.

"You boys almost ready for breakfast?' asks Denton.

I nod, my chin pressing against the blankets in my arms.

"Better wake up Racetrack and come over for breakfast," Denton tells us.

Behind me is my bare mattress and Racetrack. He is sleeping soundly. The sheets feel heavy and my arms ache from the strain of holding them for so long and in such an awkward position. I throw them onto the couch when Denton leaves and I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I shove a black toque over my grungy hair and nudge Racetrack lightly.

"Wake up," I mumble.

His eyes flutter open. "Mmm…morning Spot," he says sleepily, squinting about the room.

"Breakfast time," I tell him.

Racetrack sits up and pulls himself out of bed. In the main room Boots is pulling on his shoes and shrugging on his jacket.

"I'll meet you guys over there," he says. And he leaves.

Race throws his bag to the floor and rifles through it in search of his clothes. I wait.

"How'd you get your name Race?" I ask. He doesn't _look_ very fast. So I am confused.

He shrugs, leaning back so that the small of his back is resting on the bed. "I was always on the run," he smirks," the world was my 'racetrack'."

I can't believe that I ask it: "What are you running from?" The words are delicate and the topic even more so. I bite my tongue, ashamed.

But Racetrack answers easily. "From my old man." His face hardens slightly, but his voice is still determined and steady. "All I know," he says calmly, "is that when I fall in love with a woman I will be good to her and her kids. People who blame violent natures on the violence in their past are talking bullshit. I don't want my kids to go through what I went through."

I lump forms in my throat. Racetrack smiles sadly. "And what are you running from, Spot Conlon?"

The last names stings. My heart skips a beat and I flinch. "Reality, I guess," I admit. "I don't want to accept that I'm of no use anymore. I couldn't help Lucas when he needed me, so who can I help?"

"Being here," begins Racetrack, before pausing dramatically, "is helping all of us. Having everyone here proves that we're not alone. You helped _me_."

0o0o0o0

Sunshine Falls is bigger than it looks. It stretches past the bay which it looks on to. There are hiking trails that extend past the cabin area. But I stay in the lodge.

Denton is playing solitaire.

The room is soft and barely moving. As if not breathing at all. The cards flip in rhythm, occasionally pausing to be placed on an alternate pile, but in a constant beat. The flicking sound is repetitive and comforting. Denton shifts in his seat.

"I talked to Racetrack today," I say hoping that I don't have to say any more.

Denton doesn't answer, as if waiting for me to continue.

"He told me about his nickname."

There is a falter in Denton's hand.

"How do you know about us?" I ask him. "How do you know that we're abused when you see us in the street?"

Denton sighs and blinks a few times, running his raw fingers over his brow. "There's something in your eyes," he says, "in the way you carry yourselves."

I think about Boots' eyes, cold and barren. Do _my_ eyes look like that?

"It's like something has died," Denton's own green-grey eyes flicker in memory. "A sort of hope and comfort. Warmth that you see every day, but don't trust. At the same time, however, something is _born_. From the ashes, much like…a phoenix from flames. A hatred and a thirst. Different from the thirst of victory. Something very different."

"And you can…see that in _me_?" I ask, in slight and quiet awe.

Denton cricks his head to the side. "Yes. I can see it in you. I can see it in all of you. And sometimes I wish I couldn't."

0o0o0o0

The cabin is quiet during the day, even when people are in it. The fridge is full of cans of soda and the doors to our rooms remain shut to keep the outside world from seeing them. Someone is out on the lake, cutting the water like a knife and Coin has climbed a tree and is reading, surrounded by a mass of red and orange leaves.

Aurora is chasing geese on the beach. They squawk and bristle about, reluctant to take flight. Aurora laughs with a childlike joy. Racetrack sits on the porch and chain smokes for hours on end, twirling the cigarette in his fingers wistfully. Jack and Skittery take periodic trips to town, running errands for Lyra and Ethan. Autumn lies in the lodge with a notebook propped up on her stomach, scribbling away purposefully. Andra stalks around the forest, searching for pictures. Charley and Ele sit beside each other in the games room, facing the lake and staring out at it with a sort of reserved vagueness.

Crutchy watches the entire collection of the Indiana Jones movies again and Blink checks in on him every once and a while. I roam around the grounds. Watching people and trying to find this thrist that Denton was talking about. But we all carry ourselves differently and I don't know what he's talking about.

**End Chapter**

((Hey! What's up everyone! (dodges fruit thrown at her by angry reviewers) Oops, sorry! I know, I know! I should have updated sooner! Well…review and tell me if it was worth the wait or if I should really get my act together because I'm a giant slacker))

**Shoutouts:**

**Sapphy—**I wish I went to an overnight camp too! I went to summer camp, but it was only day camp (for art). Worst line in all of Les Miserables? Said by Marius o' course! A-hem:

"_You will live 'Ponine, dear God above….if I could heal your wounds with words of love…"_

HOLD ON! What does that mean? He likes Cosette, who I hate also, but still. Get it right dammit.

**Erin Go Bragh—**Yeah, don't you hate it when you're actually learning something interesting and other people are making a joke out of it? And yeah, the 'lust' typo was pretty screwy. The 'i' is next to the 'u', so it's not my fault! Ethan is a character sent in by Utopia Today. He's one of the kids who used to stay at VRCT also and he co-owns Sunshine Falls with Lyra. I'm not sure why it's you and Ethan, there's no 'relationship' intended by it. And don't worry, my ear is still on and you haven't talked it off.

**Kid Blink's Dreamer—**Wow, from a super-long review to a short one! Talk about culture shock. I just used culture shock wrong. Whatever. It's late.

**Coin (is lazy)—**Yeah, Race and Sapphy do make a cute couple, don't they? (yanks the two of them forward)

DON'T YOU?

Both: yes ma'am.

Good.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**too bad about the superhero thing. Maybe HHC doesn't actually stand for Headquarters Company, but some other creepy acronym…I hope Blink isn't still mad at you for making everying screwy. Muses and Newsies can be such drama queens, can't they be.

Spitzer!Muse: excuse me? I _am_ a drama queen.

Michael!Muse: me too!

Peter!Muse: don't you guys mean 'drama kings'

Both: no.

**Dreamer110—**There's lots of snow here. Then again, I live in Canada and I discovered today (in Geography class) that Canada used to the coldest country in the world. 'Used to be' because after the USSR split, some of its new countries are colder. Wow, I'm just chalk full of useless information, aren't I? It's late and I'm delirious.

**Shooter O'Brien—**hmmmm….World Cultures…what's that like? Sounds interesting. I'm not really scared of the girl I baby-sit. I saw her the other day and didn't even think about creepy-imaginary-friend-Jules until afterwards.

**C.M. Higgins—**Ah yes, all the tension! Muah-hahahahahahaha! See what I can do?

**Madison Square—**I'll be sure to send you an application for my next CC. Sorry about the '0o0' thing, I can't put the lines in on my word processor, so…(shrug). Your English teacher makes you call him captain? Wow, he sounds…anal. We just finished our semester. The English exam was super-easy, so I'm not too worried anymore.

**Pidge—**Stop review with silly stuff like that!


	6. Ele

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** R

_My notebook will explain there's nothing to gain and I can't fight the pain_—Billy Talent, Nothing to Lose

**Chapter 6—Ele**

The smell of dinner is beginning to fill the main house. My stomach trembles, begging for a snack, but I ignore it and make my way to the dock. Everything is in place. The tall, rusty slide, the multitude of canoes and kayaks, the deep, wooden chairs on the deck. I sit in one of them and stare out into the lake. The surface is black and glossy, shimmering enticingly. A breeze ruffles through the orange leaves. I pull my jacket tighter.

Something moves just out of my view. I turn around. Nothing stirs but the slight shift of leaves on the ground. I turn back around. It was probably just the wind.

The dock creaks with the draft and somewhere behind me, in the main house, Medda calls out to someone.

A few minutes later I see it again. Something moves. It is a very slight movement, but I'm sure I saw it this time. I turn around and see nothing. My eyes dart around, searching. I stand and scan the dock. That's when I see it—

Or should I say _her_.

I walk over and sit beside her. She is sleeping, her eyes quivering lightly beneath her eyelids. He uneven brown hair is hanging wildly around her head, flying up with the wind.

"Hey Ele," I whisper, "how long have you been here?"

She stirs and cracks an eye open slightly. "Oh. Spot, it's you," she closes her eye again momentarily and then lifts her gossamer lids so that her clear eyes peer to me.

"Have you been here all day?" I ask, realizing that I hadn't seen her at lunch.

Ele reaches her arms above her head and flexes, stretching out her cramped muscles.

"Uh," she yawns, "since ten."

Instead of facing her, I now face out to the water. "What have you been doing here? You must have been freezing."

She is only wearing a long-sleeved grey shirt, a large, brown zip-up sweater and an over-sized jeans. Ele pulls her holey, jean-clad knees to her chest, resting her chin on them.

"I've been drawing," she answers softly.

I glance at her and notice a thin sketchbook cradled in her arm. I don't ask what she was drawing—it doesn't seem right. But she sees me looking and holds it out to me.

"Want to take a look?" she asks.

I reach forward and take the book from her fingertips. The last drawing was a picture of a woman. She had dark eyes and light hair. Her cheeks were hallowed and a cigarette was clasped between her lips.

"Who is this?" I ask.

Ele looks over the picture as if seeing it for the first time. Her brow furrows in thought. "That's my Aunt."

She doesn't looks like Ele. I sneak a quick look to Ele's face. She looks tired even though she just woke up.

"She gave me back to my father. When I was sixteen…so…almost two years ago."

The story is coming out.

"You know, Spot, I was adopted," she attempts what I can only explain as an apathetic smile. "My dad told me about it. My mom was a teenager when I was born and her parents made her give me up. _He_ bought me from them."

She says 'he' like it's a swear word, like she doesn't want to hear it herself.

"And he did things Spot, things people just shouldn't do," thus far her voice is filled with bitterness and malice. Her eyes are bright and unwavering. But something is growing in the corner of them. "And he would say to me 'your own fucking mother was a slut, why should you be any better?'. And he'd touch me places when he was younger, and when I was older it got worse."

She pulls a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket and lights one. She takes a very long drag. Now she looks very much like her 'aunt'. He eyes are dead and her face is tired. The she clasps the cigarette with such strength that it seems like her only lifeline.

"And my aunt came and got me one day. He wasn't there to touch me anymore, but I would go to sleep hungry and she'd have men over. Spot, I don't know if I can trust men. And they would have _sex_ in the living room while I was there and I saw things that I shouldn't have seen when I was only fifteen." She exhales, sending a cloud of bluish-grey smoke into the air. "And when I had to go back _home_," this is said like another filthy word, "I couldn't take it. How could anyone expect me to live like that? And Medda found me and I ran away."

She takes another long drag and when she exhales it is accompanied by a rough choking sound. I turn and there are tears streaming down her cheeks, the cigarette hanging limply in her fingers. I take the cigarette and throw it to the deck. Next I reach to Ele's arm and touch it lightly.

"Ele? How about I walk you back to your cabin, OK?"

She sniffs and nods, rubbing her face on her sleeve.

I help her to her feet and, on the way she leans heavily on my shoulder.

I knock on the door to her cabin and Sapphy helps me put Ele to bed.

0o0o0o0o0

I talk to Denton again.

"I didn't realize how bad it was for everyone," I tell him guiltily. "And how much better it is at VRCT."

Denton sighs and crosses his fingers roughly on the table. "Better, but still not good. If it was than Aurora would have let go of Jules, Crutchy wouldn't be hooked on pain killers, Ele wouldn't have an excuse to cut herself, Coin wouldn't be so moody and Racetrack wouldn't drink so much."

How does he know all of this? _I_ don't know all of this.

"A lot of the times people only skim the surface for the problems. Dive in, get wet. The problems are about as easy to find as they are to solve."

**End Chapter**

Hey! Aren't you all proud of me? I updated really, really quickly!

REVIEW!

**Shoutouts:**

**C.M. Higgins—**Thanks! I love it when people include their favorite lines! It makes me fell all happy and like I'm appreciated!

**Coin—**I will keep that 'outdoors' thing in mind. Thanks so much!

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**You make me laugh. And that's a good thing.

**Dreamer110—**Loved the review! It made my story sound so…sophisticated!

**Utopia Today—**Wow. Everyone loved the Spot/Race convo! Awesome!


	7. David

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:**R (subjects to change)

(Note: this quote was taken from different places throughtout the song and was not arranged in this order.)

_Just cast away and I am lost at sea  
Another lonely day and no one here but me...  
A hundred billion castaways all looking for a home_John Mayer, Message in a Bottle

**Chapter 7—David **

Mornings are my new favourite things. They are still and peaceful. Bad things happen at night, in the dark when no one is watching. They can't happen in the morning, at the beginning of a new day, a new start. And I love breakfast smells and breakfast conversations. They are always cheerful because no one has had a bad day yet. It is too early and good dreams are still wafting around in our heads.

We actually laugh. Ele looks normal, but I keep thinking about her aunt. We actually laugh, but not because we've forgotten our old lives, but because we're doing pretty well in these ones. And we know it. At least, I hope we do.

0o0o0o0o0

David canoes.

"I don't just read and sit around all day," he told me as he flipped a red canoe over.

It was still early. The sun was peering over the hill ahead of us and into the bay. I held two paddles in my hands and a boat safety kit sat at my feet. The water was slow, not even breaking on the shore. We each wore orange life bests over our coats. Mine was riding up around my armpits, but David looked comfortable, his long arms bent out the arm holes with relaxed ease. He has on a red baseball cap, covering his neat, curly brown hair and shading his grey-blue eyes.

He began to shove the boat into the water. At about half way he stopped and I climbed in. Then he shoved the canoe in all the way and jumped in himself.

I handed him a paddle and we began to row. The sounds were smooth and melodic. Leaves rustled on shore and an animal scurried somewhere nearby. We paddled against the light breeze and out of sight of the cabins.

My arms ached as I plunged the oar beneath the water's surface, but David didn't complain so I didn't either. After a while his strokes grew longer. Thicker and more angry.

"I used to row with my brother and sister," David told me.

I hadn't thought that David once has siblings, but I suppose now that it fits perfectly with him.

"They were named Les and Sarah." Good names; Sarah, Les and David. It has a good ring to it. "My dad taught us to row and my mom taught us to swim. I was twelve the last time we went up to our cottage. That means Les was six and Sarah was thirteen. It was the summertime and we brought up my cousins who were eight and ten. We took the paddle boat out on the lake. Les would sit on the back, in the middle, because he was the lightest. Sarah and I would have to paddle. Sometimes we brought out sandwiches and juice for lunch."

I couldn't see his face, but I was sure he was smiling. There was an eerily nostalgic air about us. Just the two of us, floating on water, looking like crystal glass that could break any second. He had stopped paddling.

"I miss it. I miss the rowing and the sun and the summers. And the cottage. Sarah liked rowing the most."

Slivers of reminiscing floated inwards. I fought to push them out. To forget Lucas' face. I didn't want to remember where he is. I didn't want to remember what that man did to him.

"They all died in a fire," we were drifting with the slight breeze. "My cousins were moving and I had nowhere to go. I went to a bad school. There were knife fights in the halls and kids dealing drugs from bathroom stalls and in their lockers. You had to be careful not to get on anyone's bad side. So I didn't date and I didn't have a lot of friends but sometimes there are misunderstandings. I still don't know why he did it. A kid just charged at me and tackled me to the floor. He punched at my face and my stomach and my neck until I went unconscious. He had a knife and it met with my arm…" David's voice quivered, breaking off. I heard the oar hit the side of the boat gently.

"Ready?" he asked.

For what?

He started paddling before I could even answer.

We came into view of a thin bridge. In the safety kit we found a rope which we used to secure the canoe and then we climbed the bridge. We sat on it with our feet dangling over the side. Over the treetops we could see the cottages.

"You had a brother, right Spot?" David asked.

I nodded.

"I miss my brother. There was nothing I could do to save him." Tears covered David's face. I pretended not to notice.

"I know what you mean," I said sadly.

We didn't move until the sun reached its highest point in the sky, at which time we climbed back into the canoe and let the growing current take us back.

0o0o0o0o0

The rest of the day drifted by like clockwork. Things were slow and easy, nothing was hurried, everything leisurely and simple. I found a 'library' in one wing of the lounge. I pulled novels off the shelves and retreated to my cabin to read. And I stayed there all day, missing the casual lunch and resting until supper.

I miss my brother. I miss him a lot. Something inside of me yearns and bleeds and screams to me. _You let him die! You let him bleed on the floor!_

I try to tell myself that this isn't my fault, but something in the pit of my stomach retches when I say this.

And my mother. The reason for our suffering and the reason we stayed around so long. I kept telling myself that one day she would get it right. That one day she would stumble across a gem that treated her like he should. And he would treat _us_ like he should. Us. There is no 'us' anymore. There's just me, Simon Conlon, a boy with no family, but a house full of people willing to let me in. And for some reason I can't let them in.

**End Chapter**

(scattered applause) Yes. Quite. I hope you liked that! I also hope you don't hate me for killing off all of the Jacobs'. I'm sorry, with them there would be no David! Really! And what would we do without our Davy-Boy? That's right, nothing.

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**I know how it is with the computer messing up all the time. I used to have that problem! No it's fixed! I love Sympatico, yay!

Charlie!Muse: dear God. Please stop dancing.

Me: Huh? No. Who asked you?

Charlie!Muse: It's late and you're delirious. Do stop before you fall and hurt yourself.

Me: (stops)

Charlie!Muse: there's a good kid.

Me: wait…you're only ten…

**C.M. Higgins—**Aw! You always say the nicest things!

**Dreamer110—**I love all my charries in this! They're all so cool! And I like writing their stories because it's fun. And my middle name is in Chinese and it means 'Perfection'. Yep, that's right!

**Utopia Today—**(eyes pop out) _Seven_ chocolate-covered newsies? How can I choose? Do you buy them in bulk or something? OK, I want Itey, David, Jack, Swifty, Race, Specs and Dutchy. Got that? Good.

**Coin—**Muah ha ha ha ha ha ha! Be intrigued! Be very intrigued!

Tom!Muse: Hmm…something's wrong here…(injects Buttons with needle containing unidentified substance)

Me: (sinks to floor)

Tom!Muse: that's better.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**They told you to stop writing? How dare they! Don't fret (tee hee, fret) I think you write fabulously! I'm also glad that you like the way I portrayed Ele, I wouldn't want her to be OOC or anything.

**SpellBell—**(gasp) please don't grovel. I'm really not that great. At all. I'm actually pretty bad because it takes me a decade and a half to update! And I don't know if Jack will have a girlfriend. I haven't thought that far ahead yet.

**antiIRONY—**I don't like making the PoVs a girls. Well, OK, I don't really mean it like that. I don't like writing my own character into my own story because I am (admittedly) a big perpetrator of the Mary Sue. I will make my character a Sue no matter how hard I try to give her flaws. That's why I usually just stick to newsies as the main characters, otherwise I will unknowingly turn the girl into a prefect version of me. It's Godawful! Yes, Godawful. Just like that.

And I like the name Simon for Spot. I don't call him Patrick much (like some people) because there was a Patrick in the movie (hence Patrick's mother) and I have no idea who _her_ Patrick is, so I don't feel I have the right to steal the name.

((_Also, everyone, as a point of interest, I want to point out that it is stupid to put the 'w' over the 's' because of imbeciles like me who turn the sentence into 'The water was slow, not even breaking on the whore.' Yes, that would have been bad.))_


	8. Coin

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** R (subject to change)

_With each new fall I hit twice as hard.  
Would you be there for me?  
I would be there for you.  
Would you look up to see?  
Falling forward and looking up.—_ A Fire Inside (better known as AFI), Coin Returning

**Chapter 8—Coin **

The lodge is still in the afternoon light. I know why they call it 'Sunshine Falls'. It's the way the beams of light filter through the window and hit the furniture. Everything seems to jump out at once, embracing the radiance and the warmth.

The TV is off and a discarded cassette is lying on top of it, splaying _Indiana Jones_ about to viewers. The clock ticks, never missing a second. I close my eyes and tilt my head backwards, feeling the sunbeams on my face.

The door clicks and swings. Someone steps inside. There is a shuffling as they wipe their feet and a gust of cool air from outside ruffles against my leg. There is the tousle of a jacket being hung and a creak as they lean on a wall. I crack one eye open. Her choppy hair is hanging over her eyes and she is peeling her blue converse off her feet.

Coin sits down. "Hey Spot."

I sniff and retreat within my black pullover. "Hey."

The cuffs of her grey pants are frayed. She pulls her knees to her chest, her wool-socked feel peeking over the side of the seat.

I yawn. "Wha's up?" I manage, fighting back a second yawn.

"I don't know. Not much," she says. There is a look on her face that seems to tell me more.

"Are you sure?" I ask.

She shrugs. "I guess. I don't know." She sighs almost mutely and rubs her eyebrow. A pensive look sweeps through her expression.

"If you're sure," I say, staring out the tall lodge windows to the lake. I see someone sitting on the bridge that David and I sat on. The thin rope bridge, swaying in the wind, creaking with the breeze.

Coin shifts in her seat and looks out where I am too. "How long have you been with us Spot?" she asks gently.

I think about this for a second. "About a month," I answer.

A flitter of a smile crosses her mouth, but she fights it back. It's as if she's not allowed to smile. "I've been here for three." She hugs her knees tighter. "And all this time I don't really have anyone, y'know?"

I guess. "Yeah."

"Like…Sapphy and Ele get along and so do Crutchy and Boots. But I don't _have_ anyone."

I think. "I don't either," I say.

Coin doesn't appear to have noticed. She continues to stare out across the water to the bridge. The person on the bridge is standing, getting their footing, and climbing down. Coin turns to me.

"I just wish I had had more friends," she says, then she shakes her head. "No, wait. That came out wrong. I always had a few really good friends, but I was never really friends with everyone."

_How could you be? _I want to ask, but I don't want to cut her off. It seems like she is confusing herself more than explaining things to me.

Coin stops talking and shuts her eyes. She sighs. "Do you ever watch TV shows and there are all these cliques? Y'know, like the football players and the cheerleaders? Or the band geeks and the science nerds?"

I'm not sure what she's getting at with this, but I nod and listen.

"My school wasn't like that. Sure, we has a football team and a cheerleading squad, but we didn't discriminate against anyone because of these things. Once you were off the field you were just another kid. There was no special treatment. Everyone was a student before anything else and that's how everyone treated them. The whole myth of it is kind of suburban anyways. It was a _good_ school. We had a high GPA and a lot of teams and clubs. I was on the magazine committee," she smiled slightly, "and things were good. I had a group of good friends, friends I had since kindergarten. I had a good boyfriend."

Coin pauses to make sure she isn't talking to herself. Her eyes flash over my face. I nod and she continues.

"He was sweet. He was a junior, a year older than me. He was on the swim team. We were only going out for a while. Maybe two weeks…" She trails off and her eyes get that misty glazed over look. She fiddles with the chain of her necklace, twirling it around her finger.

"Have you ever been bullied Spot?" she asks, her voice coming from far away.

I nod. I'm small. People pick on me all the time. Just little jabs here and there, nothing too serious. Names and the occasional schoolyard fight. No one ever got hurt, this was when we were young. Angry words on the playground. The need for more lunch money.

"By a boy?"

I nod again. Always by a boy. The girls would stand by a laugh or pretend to be scared. Whatever they chose on that particular day.

"Well, getting bullied by a girl is ten times worse. She _always_ has friends. My boyfriend's ex and her friends cornered me in the bathroom after school one day. 'You stole him from me, you bitch!', she had yelled, and they all started pushing me," Coin's voice is smooth, like a narrator. The tone is nonexistent as she runs through the worst moment of her life. "One of them locked the door so no one could come in. When I stopped fighting back one of them shoved me really hard against the wall. Everything went black and when I woke up I was covered in lipstick and my hair was hacked off." Instinctively Coin's hand goes to her short bob.

"They had left me there." The is a far, empty feeling in her words. Like something inside of her is crying out.

Under Coin's eyebrows is a healing cut, as if it was recently stitched. She pulls her knees in further and buries her face in them. Then she cries really hard and all I can do is reach over to her and assure her everything is okay.

My newest lesson: A situation can change faster than ever imagined. The room was just filled with sunshine and lazy comfort and now a cloud has blocked the sun and a sobbing girl sits beside me.

When Coin is done crying she wipes her eyes with her sleeve and pulls her sweater closer around her, covering her vintage Beatles t-shirt. I get up and pop the _Indiana Jones_ movie in the VCR. When I go to sit back down Coin stands up and hugs me.

"Thank you," she whispers.

I want to say 'What for?', but before I can she says:

"…for being a friend."

I shoot her a crooked half-smile. "No problem."

And outside the wind blows the cloud off the sun. The room fills again.

**End Chapter**

((Wow! A much faster update compared to what I've been doing lately. I hope you all enjoyed it. Please review! I will love you forever. Yes. That long.))

**Shoutouts:**

**Dreamer110—**I love David! Lots of people hate him, but I like the studious-nerdy type. I guess it's because he's a nerd too. _How_ever, I felt I needed to make him do something other than read. No one is that far off. And I like the nostalgia too. And the word 'nostalgia'.

**C.M. Higgins—**I feel bad killing off the Jacobs' too. Well…mostly only Les. I really didn't want too! Les is such a sweetheart!

**Coin—**Oops. I was looking for something to use as my quote and I just checked John Mayer lyrics. I had no idea that The Police sang it before him! I just love John and thought: 'Hey, maybe I'll find something here!' Thanks for the tip though. Cottage _is_ a funny word, don't worry. And David's story is pretty awesome. In a bad way though.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**(gasp) Killing off the Jacobs' isn't fun! Well, except for Sarah and Esther. What is it with the women in that family?

**SpellBell—**you really are too nice to me. Really.

**_GIANT PLUG! Join my C2 community! It's all Newsie fics! Email me! (Check my bio)Please, please, pretty please! Yay! Also, why am I getting less reviews now! WHY? REVIEW PEOPLE! _**


	9. Lyra & Ethan

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** R (subject to change)

_It is in the shelter of each other that the people live.—_Irish proverb

**Chapter 9 (Part 1)—Lyra **

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, which makes today Thanksgiving Eve, I suppose. Lyra and Ethan are rushing around the kitchen, pulling cans from shelves and pouring things into pots and pans. I am sitting at the counter, watching.

"Do you need any help?" I had asked, but they said 'no' and suggested I go play ping pong. The problem is that I am amazingly bad at ping pong, lacking all hand-eye coordination. Instead I decided to hang around and watch. Ethan is cutting the twine off the turkey, releasing it from its uncomfortable position. Lyra is cutting up bread, onions and celery to go into the stuffing. And some other things that I don't think I should say, just thinking about it all makes me never want to eat stuffing again.

After ten minutes Lyra realizes that I am probably not going anywhere. "You sure you want to help?" she asks.

I nod, standing up.

"Go wash your hands and put on an apron," she says. "You can peel the yams."

Ew, yams. I hate yams. But I peel them anyways. I let them soak in warm water until the skin becomes soft. I pull the three yams out of the sink and peel them over the cutting board. We work in silence.

"So…how long have you guys been at Sunshine Falls?" I ask, peeling slowly, revealing the orange flesh.

Ethan pauses and thinks. "About two years…is that about right Lyra?"

Lyra brushes a brown hair off her face, leaving a smudge of flour on her forehead. "Yeah, that's about right."

I don't know what kind of questions to ask them. Have they gotten over the abuse? What's their story? Do they mind talking about it? I peel even slower. Lyra walks over he the sink and washes her hands. She gives me a look.

"You doing okay there?" she asks.

I nod and peel a bit faster, taking off a large piece of flesh by accident. Damnit. I place the yams into a large porcelain bowl.

"So…" I dump the yam rind into the garbage. "What exactly is going on between you two?" I ask.

Yeah, I know, stupidly awkward question. Ethan's hand slips and the knife blade bites into the side of the cutting board. Lyra looks up at me, surprise reading through her glasses-hidden face.

"Nothing's going on!" she says, sincerely shocked.

Ethan shakes his head, his blonde curls bouncing around as he continues to slice carrots. A bewildered expression is riding on his face.

"Truthfully, Spot," says Lyra, "I don't think I can _ever _have a boyfriend. I don't trust men." She shrugs as if this is nothing odd or out of the ordinary. "They're the reason I went to VRCT anyways."

She speaks with ease and understanding, without any sorrow or remorse. She has accepted everything. All of it. I admire that, I don't know if I will ever get to that point.

"My parents were divorced," she says, slicing onions smoothly. "And I suppose that led to everything, but at the same time, I'm not sure that it did. I mean, they didn't hurt me and none of their friends did. It was who I associated myself with afterwards. Now, I'm not saying that all guys are like the ones I dated, but the sad thing is that some of them are. How do you know who's going to hurt you and who's going to love you? It's stupid when people blame divorce on their problems. My parents loved me, just not each other. What's the problem with that?"

She sighs and pushes her glasses up her nose.

"I guess I just liked the attention. And I didn't know when to say 'no'. It was not a good thing. I'm just lucky that Medda found me before I became another street kid."

I thought about me and the days that I slept in the street. How cold it was. How lucky Lyra was to have missed it all.

"Keep it in mind Spot, things change when you're under the influence. He said he loved me, but that all changed when he took a drink."

She must be talking about her boyfriend.

Her face is hard. Determined not to show enough emotion for anyone to feel sorry for her. The onions are gathered to the side of the chopping board and no tears gathered in her eyes, from her story or otherwise. She wipes her hands on her apron.

"I'm going to go get more yams for you, okay Spot?"

I nod and she disappears to the cellar.

**(Part 2) Ethan**

Ethan watches Lyra go with a sort of admiration on his face. He sniffs and goes back to his carrots.

"She's like my big sister, you know?" he says.

I nod and even though he can't see me he continues.

"She helped me out a lot at VRCT. And when I left she invited me to come work here. If she didn't…"

He doesn't finish. The sleeves of his plain navy t-shirt are rolled up. I can see puncture wounds on one of the arms. He glances up and sees me looking.

He looks at his arm too and back at me. He doesn't roll his sleeve down.

"I'm clean now. It took a long time, even after I left VRCT. It's all really because of Lyra. It's hard to get your hands on X or even cocaine out here, believe me, I tried. Once I even got some, but I never used it, it's buried somewhere in the woods. I couldn't use it, not when Lyra trusted me enough to take me in. Not when she cared enough."

Ethan is very thin and gaunt. I find myself wondering if this is because of his apparentexcessive drug use. His eyes are small and empty looking. The skin on his face, especially his neck, is so pale that it's almost blue. There is a tiny spot that looks somewhat like a scab on the underside of his wrist.

"I bet you're wondering what happened to me, huh?" he asks, a faint smile playing on his lips, "I bet you're wondering 'what happened to make this kid so messed up?'"

I don't say anything, wondering something like this, though not in such harsh words.

"Unlike most of the kids here, I was the violent one. Not when I was grounded, but when I was high as a kite I didn't know what I was doing. I thought it was funny. You know, like the people who breathe in paint fumes and slap each other around? It was like that, except I didn't know who was high or not. And then I would be so sore afterwards and the only way to stop the pain was to take another hit or another shot. Sometimes I seriously think about how lucky I am to not have gotten anything from the needles. I'm so lucky not to be dead right now."

I nod and slice the yams because I don't know what else to do.

"Not to say that my parents were Mr. and Mrs. Cleaver or anything, but there was food on the table and I went to school and they made sure I wasn't dead at the end of the day. Better than most of the people in my neighborhood."

"I know what you mean."

Now would be a great time to tell someone about my mom and her revolving door of boyfriends. But I can't bring myself to it, so I keep my mouth shut and cut my yams.

Lyra climbs back up the stairs. She raises two yams triumphantly above her head. "I hope you like yams Spot!" she says.

Even though I don't I smile and take them from her.

**End Chapter**

((Yes! Buttons rocks the updates! Yes, yes she does! (dances oddly around the room)

Charlie!Muse: dear God, someone stop her. She needs to be sedated!

Buttons: You keep your comments to yourself. And don't even think about it Tom!

Tom!Muse: (backs off, holding needle)

Buttons: As a note, I, too, hate yams. Who else does! Tell me!))

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**I was seriously thinking of giving you a shoutout eve though you didn't review, just because this always seems to happen, but I decided against it because when I read fictions I just go to the last chapter the author gave me a shoutout at. Yes. Quite.

About that quote…yeah…I thought it was corny, in all sincerity. I thought everyone would go 'Ew. Oddball. Stop writing." Maybe I'm just too hard on myself.

And band kids _do_ rock. I would be one. If I had any musical talent. _All_ of my friends are in the band! And I'm not because the flute hates me and you can't play guitar in band.

**C.M. Higgins:** Yeah…I don't ever want to be beat up by someone over a _guy_. I mean, seriously, get over it. At the same time, I don't want to be beat up by _any_one.

**Coin: **(is scared) Uh oh, I have an odd psychic thing going on! That's too bad that you are bullied, I hope I didn't bring up any absurdly bad memories or anything. At the same time, I have been bullied too, but I enjoy turning it around on whoever is doing the bullying. I play on a soccer team with a girl who tried to beat me up in grade seven (and who, at the time, said I couldn't play soccer to save my life), but we don't bring this up. And I'm the team's captain. Ah, vengeance is sweet.

**Dreamer110:** Yes, I know that 'empathetic' is a word. See, I just used it! I hope your brain feels better, I know what it's like. Mine hurts too sometimes.

Charlie!Muse: (cough) allthetime (cough)

Buttons: Did I _ask_ you?

I don't always notice when people bully me. I guess that's an upside to my dense-ness.


	10. Thanksgiving

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** R (subject to change)

_There can be hope only for a society which acts as one big family, not as many separate ones.—_Anwar el Sadat

**Chapter 10—Thanksgiving**

Thanksgiving morning seems to sneak in. One minute I am lying in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, the next there is sunlight rippling in the windows and I am sprawled about on the bed. Boots' steady snores are coming in from the next room. Racetrack is sitting out in the main room, smoking a cigar and blowing the smoke out the window.

"Morning," I mutter, pulling a glass from the cupboard and pouring myself a cup of orange juice.

Racetrack mumbles a response and stares out the window. He takes another drag on his cigar and exhales bluish-gray smoke.

Boots' snores fill in the void.

I walk back to our room and change. I put on a green army-print t-shirt and an old pair of ripped jeans, with holes in the knees and worn spots on the pockets. I pull on a gray sweater and tame my dreadlocks into a ponytail. I pull on a hat that I find on the floor in the corner of the room and open the door.

"I'm going for a walk," I say, but Racetrack is gone.

0o0o0o0o0

Dinner smells are wafting all over the property. Today is dessert day, Lyra told us at breakfast.

"You're all welcome to pitch in," she shot me a glance.

My stomach is full of pancakes and blueberry syrup. I trudge through the forest, over fallen trees and sodden leaves. The air is cold and I am very surprised that it hasn't snowed, being late November and all. My camera swings around my neck, the navy blue cord swaying with the comfortable weight of it.

I work my way far into the trees. Past the maple, willow and birch trees and into the pine trees. I am surrounded by green and a clean, crisp smell.

I snap a picture.

There is no one on the lake.

I snap a picture.

There are animals scurrying around. A twig snaps beneath my feet. Everything around me is one giant forest-y cliché.

I snap a picture.

I climb up a tree and sit in the crook of its arm. It is surprisingly comfortable. I relax and lie into it. Soon I am asleep.

0o0o0o0o0

When I wake up the sun is sinking and the temperature is low. The forest is dark. I cautiously climb down from my perch, careful not to break my camera. I take a picture of the tree and it's cradle-like arms.

_Sanctuary._

I find my way back to the lodge. I can see the lights shining through the large windows. I never noticed before, but the main windows cast a reflection over the water below. I admire the scene for a minute before snapping a picture of just the reflection.

I pull the door open and step inside. It is warm and Lyra is bustling about. She hands people dishes to put on the table or a pack of matches to light the candles.

After a minute of chaos she rings the dinner bell and we all gather around the table.

"Please everyone," she says, "sit and eat. Happy Thanksgiving."

The Thanksgiving dinner is huge. The table is weighed down with platters of turkey and bowls of stuffing, potatoes and carrots.

My stomach expands hungrily as I breathe in. We pass around the dishes, piling our plates high with food. I pour gravy on my potatoes and smother my turkey in cranberry sauce.

Denton raises his glass. After a pause and a glance around the table he speaks. "Dig in everyone!"

Our faces are shining happily. We talk loudly across the table, passing around drink and food. There is laughter and plenty of grinning

Denton and Medda look proud.

Lyra beams at everyone enjoying her food. "Let's go around, what is everyone happy for?"

We groan at the sheer childishness of it, but we go ahead anyways. It feels good to do something embarrassing and stupid for once. It helps us forget about everything else. Lyra is very smart.

Crutchy: "I am thankful for food!"

Everyone laughs and nods in agreement.

Jack: "I am thankful for this weekend and Sunshine Falls!"

There is ridiculous and over-the-top cheering.

Sapphy: "I am thankful that we have each other."

I look at Racetrack, who is blushing.

Aurora: "I am thankful for Jules, who never really left me!"

We cheer for that too, even though we have never really met Jules.

Blink: "I am thankful for being able to see!"

He grins and we find it acceptable to laugh.

Charley: "I am thankful for Denton and Medda."

They smile at each other.

Coin: "I am thankful for polka dots and Indiana Jones."

I don't look up, but I can feel her looking at me.

David: "I am thankful for the rope bridge, which has been an adventure."

It swings steadily outside.

Ethan: "I am thankful for company."

We all nod and Racetrack gives a hearty 'here, here!'

Ele: "I am thankful for music and thought."

Very deep, but we cheer and grin anyways. Ele doesn't seem to mind.

Skittery: "I am thankful for healing."

Boots: "I am thankful for the Salvation Army!"

Andra: "I am thankful for space and time."

Lyra: "I am thankful for you all, since you make Thanksgiving so much better."

Me: "I am thankful for—" family "—friends."

Autumn: "I am thankful for a place to sleep at night."

Medda raises her glass. "Now _that_ is what I call a toast."

**End Chapter**

((Hmm….so…what are _you _thankful for?))

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**wow, you are a picky eater, aren't you? And out band _does_ have a guitar too (and jazz band), but I'm just not good enough to pull it off. I'm know everyone thinks 'oh, she's just saying that', but it's true. I think I frustrate my teacher.

**C.M. Higgins—**Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you were on when you shouldn't have been.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**I don't mind that you weren't here, as long as you come back.

**Dreamer110—**I know what the homework thing is like. Pfft! So much! And does anyone even _like_ yams? Really. Ew.

**Coin—**Relationships _are_ really interesting. I'm still not cool. And even my un-cool friends have begun to hate me. I think this is because I'm really moody.

Charlie!Muse: You _think_? They _told_ you!

Buttons: Don't make me hit you.

**Utopia Today—**I love you because you used to word 'stupendous'!

**Margie Driscoll—**OK, you might have figured it out in the century-and-a-half that it has taken me to update, but a Mary-Sue is a freakishly perfect character. One that everyone loves or, if they don't love her, it's because she's better than them. For more information check out my website (in my bio). _Also_, did you know that you're older than me? Wow! Awesome. Damn it, I'm so young. Oh, and sorry about not reading your fic, I have been strapped for time! I will try to get to it, I promise.


	11. Crutchy

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_Trials give you strength, sorrows give understanding and wisdom._—Chuck T. Falcon

**Chapter 11—Crutchy**

It is strange leaving. Lyra pulls us each in and hugs us. Aurora hugs her back. Hard. Lyra looks surprised, but happily so.

"Keep in touch, OK Medda?" she calls as we pile bags into trunks. There is a tear growing in the corner of her eye but she blinks it away, looking brave.

Ethan stands beside the lodge, looking demure and calm. The breeze ruffles through his hair, getting it mixed with the fluttering of the first real snow of the season. Ethan's cheeks are pale despite to cold. Everyone else is rosy-cheeked. It is as if he is a ghost.

I find myself sandwiched between Crutchy—who is grinning and chatting away to someone, who I later realize is me—and Andra—who is glaring moodily out the window at the lake. Medda climbs into the driver's seat after prying herself away from Lyra, who is now fully-teary-eyed.

Medda turns on the van and Lyra waves as we pull away. Ethan watches with an eerie calm. Then he walks out and stands beside Lyra. We turn a corner and they are out of sight.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Crutchy has been talking all the way so far. He never stops, it's like he's charged on a battery. He just keeps going, and going, and going.

We pull over at the same rest station that we stopped at on the way to Sunshine Falls. Crutchy orders a large Coke from the Wendy's and I talk myself into a Twix bar from the vending machine. We stand outside by the gas pumps, waiting for everyone to come back out so we can go. Crutchy sucks on his Coke straw, making a slurping sound as he realizes that there's only ice left.

There is something comforting about the smell of gas and the sound of ice in a paper cup. It's so temporary, but so constant at the same time. It's hard to describe.

Crutchy sighs and pulls the lid off of the cup. He pours some of the ice into his mouth, crunching it between his teeth and wincing at the coldness of it. But still, he is smiling.

Crutchy never stops smiling. It's like his grin is ever-plastered on his face.

We are stuck for conversation, so he feels it in his duty to coax it on. "I've been here for three years," he tells me. "Since I was fourteen."

Fourteen. It seems so young. "Why? What could have happened when you were only fourteen?" I ask, amazed that he could have left home when he was so young. Then again, he may not have had a home.

"I was orphaned when I was really little," he says, his eyes flickering around as if in hyper-drive, as opposed to glazing over as most people's do while reminiscing. "I lived on the streets and in shelters and stuff. I didn't have much to get by on, but I made due. When I was thirteen I lived in a bad neighborhood of the Bronx. There were gangs everywhere. They usually wouldn't bother me, because I was so young and all, but one day some of them got drunk and they beat me in the street. I covered my head as best I could. One guy picked up a huge piece of asphalt and slammed it on my leg. Then they took what money I had and left me in pain.

"Spot, I had never seen so much blood and it was all mine. It came out of my head, my legs, my arm and my mouth. Medda found me and brought me to a hospital." He pulls up his pant leg and shows me something plastic and wooden. "But they couldn't save it."

The grin is faltering, but still ever-present. It looks pained.

"On my fourteenth birthday I got out of the hospital and Medda brought me to VRCT. They aren't luxurious or outstanding, but these have been the best years of my life."

I am taken aback. We had no real family and very little money, but I guess we have something else. Support, warmth and maybe even love.

0o0o0o0o0

It feels good to lie down in my bed again. There is something about the room that makes me feel comfortable. It may be the close and predictable placement of everything, or maybe the familiarity and smell: like wood, pine, gasoline and vanilla.

Blink seems glad to be home too. He groans as he lies down in his bed, over the covers. He stretches his hands over his head and stares at the ceiling. I get up and sit on the window sill. Outside, in the yard, I can see Racetrack and Sapphy. The snow is falling and Sapphy's cheeks are bright, as is the tip of her nose. Racetrack pulls a leaf out of her hair. She grins and buries her head in his shoulder. Even from here I can see her very blue eyes.

Racetrack is smiling slowly, not a booming grin, but a conservative, shy smile. Like he doesn't want anyone to know. And no one does. Except for me.

0o0o0o0o0

Ele and I are playing a feisty game of cribbage. Denton has coaxed the shaft of the fireplace in the rec room open and there is a fire cracking away. We are scattered around the room, Charley, Andra, Jack, David, Coin, Ele and I. The TV is on, an old rerun of _Friends_ playing loudly, coaxing out canned laughter every few seconds. Ele is seven pegs ahead of me. And what a hand I have: a Jack, a three, a seven, a two, a five and a ten face card. I take my six spaces and let her count her points.

Aurora trips up from the basement, her camera hanging around her neck. She strolls into the rec room and sits, cross-legged, on the floor beside the beat-up coffee table. She spreads out her newly developed pictures on the tabletop. Pictures of the sky. All of them.

I hear her talking to Charley about her pictures. "I want to be free!" she says. "I want to live in the sky, with no limits and no one to stop me."

Charley smiles sadly and ruffles her hands over Aurora's photos. She pauses over a night shot, the moon orange and phosphorescent.

Maybe we all want to be free, but Aurora is the only one brave enough to admit that we want to know that we can survive. That we can get by on our own. We're too busy relying on the only good thing that has happened to us.

What's wrong with that?

Something tugs at the back of my mind. _You have to leave sometime_, it says. I push it away.

**End Chapter**

(Wowza! I'm so, so sorry this took soooo long, but I'm sure you're all tired of hearing me say this. So, read the Shoutouts!))

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**Spring Break is loooonnnggggg over now. So is my birthday! I am officially (mumbles)

Charlie!Muse: _what_ was that?  
Buttons: Nothing.  
Charlie!Muse: How old are you?  
Buttons: How old are _you_?  
Charlie!Muse: (exasperated): Ten, you know that. How old are _you_?  
Buttons: Fifteen  
Spitzer/Michael!Muse: (singing) for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fellow, for she's a jolly good fel-elo! And nobody can deny!  
Buttons: Aw, shaddap you two

Yes, I frustrate my teacher. But I'm getting better. I got Oasis's _Wonderwall_ down in one half-hour session.

**C.M. Higgins—**(keeps it going by dancing madly and very idiotically)

**Coin—**WOOT! Go with the thankful! Does your family actually say what they're thankful for at Thanksgiving or do they just eat?

**Dreamer110—**Time for 'Confessions with Buttons'

Buttons: (clears throat professionally) I cannot climb trees.  
Peter!Muse: (gasps and falls over in a dead faint)  
Tom!Muse: (rushes in to revive the fallen Peter)  
Buttons: It seems to be some complicated acquired trait. I just can't do it. I fall over and get grass stains. Now, I like grass stains, but not when they're on my chin.

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**No! You can't leave for a full year! I wouldn't be angry, but I would be sad! COME BAAACCCKKKK!

**Margie Driscoll—**Man, I'm fifteen. I'm so friggin' young. This sucks. And I'm not updating The Newsie Soccer Team. I have run out of hilarious hi-jinxes for the boys to get into.

**Shooter O'Brien**(who I love for catching up in such as professional fashion)**—**(for chapter 6) I thought some people would be thrown off by the change of rating! Sorry!

(Chapter 7) Yup. I'm just killing off all the brothers. I don't even have a brother.

(Chapter 8) The Esther thing confused me at first. But then I got it! (is proud) I don't like bullies either. They make fun of me. But it's OK, because someday I will be their boss and order them around (grins cheesily)

(Chapter 9) I like ping pong too, I have a ping pong table. I'm just not very good. And I have a secret about Aurora! Lean in! (yanks your collar closer) She's not getting another chapter named after her…but Jules might…

(Chapter 10) You'd better keep that promise. Hehe. And I hope that shower made you less smelly then you were before. Not that I'm saying you're smelly or anything.


	12. Skittery

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_There is no pleasure in life equal to that of the conquest of a vicious habit.—_unknown

**Chapter 12—Skittery**

The air is crisp and thin. I am sitting on the front porch, watching the traffic lights change and shifting the camera's weight in my hands. Two boys, about my age, stumble by on the sidewalk, walking crookedly and speaking in drunken slur. The front door opens and Skittery is standing behind me. He watches the boys retreat as if he's going to be sick.

"You'd better get inside Spot," he says, "it's getting dark." His voice is distant and wandering. His eyes still follow the boys.

"Do you know them?" I ask.

Skittery blinks, his eyes focusing in on me. "No. but I knew many kids like them. Many kids like…" he trails off. "Never mind," he mumbles.

The light from the house is soft around Skittery's hair, making his curls appear angelic and his face soft. Our breath grows between us and drifts away with the breeze. Skittery turns around and walks inside.

0o0o0o0o0

It is late at night when I wake up. My feet are cold and the window between Blink's bed and mine is frosting over. Outside the moon cuts in a crisp white crescent. My throat is dry so I roll out of bed and cross the room to the door. Blink's breathing is deep and even. He breathes in his nose and out his mouth. The way we're taught to breath in gym class.

There is a light at the end of the hall, near the staircase. It glows, advancing upwards. I tiptoe to the bathroom, past Boots and Racetrack's room, the chalkboard on the door smudged, distorting their names. Past Crutchy and David's room, the door slightly open so that I can hear Crutchy snoring from within. And Jack and Skittery's room, which has a light on inside.

In the bathroom I get myself a glass of water straight from the tap. If I strain my ears I can hear Jack and Skittery talking next to the bathroom.

"It's hard Jack," Skittery is saying, "so many kids just like him. I don't want them to go through it too. Their families and friends, no one thinks about it."

Jack shifts, his bed creaking louder than he predicted it would. "I know Skitts."

"Kids abusing alcohol and drugs. And each other. How can they stand themselves?"

They pause and I hear only Crutchy snoring across the hall.

"Drugs only make us suffer. I wish I could…I wish I could…" he stops. "When he hit me he was laughing. Like we were playing. His eyes were red and diluted and his movements were quick and thoughtless."

I shiver.

Jack's bed creaks again. "Skittery, your brother was your abuser, I know," his voice is barely a whisper, "and it's a terrible thing, but you need to recover before you can help others."

There is no answer for a few minutes. I fill another glass of water.

"Goodnight Jack," comes Skittery's voice, quietly, like a secret.

"Goodnight."

When I walk past their room again the light has been turned off.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I have learned to love mornings. They are new and fresh. My hair is sticking to the side of my face and Blink's arm is hanging over the side of the bed. His face is scrunched up in a concerned expression, as if he is dreaming his way through a complicated math class. His eye patch is riding up around his forehead, his hair standing on end in the back.

Someone walks by in the hall outside the room, the floorboards creaking with every footstep. Seven footsteps before they reach the stairs.

After a moment of lying still in bed I climb out and find my way downstairs. The front hall is bright in a way I never could understand, in a way that allows the hall to be bright without the help of any windows. I think it's the glossy reflective surfaces of the pictures that line every wall.

The kitchen is alive as Medda rushes about, scrambling eggs and buttering toast. I help set the table with Andra. I notice now that her hair looks less…perky in the morning. Usually it is full and fifties-esque, but in the morning it deflates and hangs limply around her shoulders. But I'm a fine one to talk, my hair is messy and dreadlocked because I haven't brushed it in three months.

The clock on the wall reads seven thirty and the calendar indicates that it's a Monday. Time for school again. And sure enough, five minutes later Mr. Seitz enters the dining room and helps himself to a piece of toast. Everyone else is making their way downstairs, clad in their pajamas, rubbing sleep out of their eyes and yawning widely.

We eat, the cutlery clinking softly, soft conversation floating around the table in that sleepy morning sort of way. I down three glasses of orange juice and a pile of eggs, toast and bacon before cleaning up and heading back upstairs.

The rest of the house is eerily silent; empty. Upstairs the rooms are warm and my bed looks inviting, but I pull a pair of ripped jeans out of the drawer, my purple graphic tee from the Salvation Army and my old, newly washed, black hooded sweater, from when I first came to VRCT. Blink knocks on the door and opens it without waiting for an answer. We change without words, Blink into a pair of olive green corduroy pants and a plain white shirt that has a whole on the bottom cuff, measuring about an inch in diameter. He puts on a red sweater and we sit across each other on our beds, pulling our sock on each foot. Me: my left first, him his right.

I leave the room and head for the stairs. Coming straight from his room, Skittery falls into step with me. He is wearing light jeans and a long-sleeved grey and green rugby shirt. For the first time I see a scar that rides the ridge between his nose and his lip. It is white and soft, barely noticeable.

"Get a good sleep Spot?" he asks me.

"Yeah," I say, remembering my bathroom eavesdrop from the night before. "How 'bout you?"

Skittery doesn't answer.

**End Chapter**

((Yay! Guess what everyone? I'm not dead. Wow. You would have thought I was, what, with the amount of time I took to update!)) ((ALSO! I don't know if anyone noticed, but all of my song fics have been taken down. Yes, this is terrible. Even _Travelin' Soldier_. This sucks.))

**Shoutouts:**

**Coin—**My dad came over to Toronto when he was eighteen and my mom is Dutch/Irish mixed, so I'm _kind of_ in the same boat as you in terms of the Thanksgiving thing. But we still have a dinner. I like turkey and stuffing.

**Erin Go Bragh—**I like coming back home after a long trip. Like just this weekend I was in New York (Buffalo area) for my sister's soccer tournament and I was so happy to get back home. There's just something so oddly comforting knowing that the last person who slept in your bed was you and not possibly some naked fifty year old. Ew.

**C.M. Higgins—**Wow. It's official people, I have written the best story with meaning _ever_! Well…maybe not ever, but on this computer, at least.

**itsasledgehammer—**(Chapter 1) I am trying to fit every newsie in, but they may only make short appearances in or be mentioned later on or only referenced. Sorry!

**Nakaia Aidan-Sun—**Oh no! That means that you're leaving in two days! I hope you get to read this and review! Bon Voyage!

**SpellBell—**No! Please don't kill me! See? I updated! Wait…(thinks) do you even know where I live?

**Shooter O'Brien—**Well, I'm glad that you don't smell and that you're surprised about what I like to call the 'Jules Factor'. Yes, I did just make that up now.

**mistymixwolf—**(Chapter 2) Yes, you had better keep reading! And reviewing!


	13. Sapphy

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_Blue eyes, they're so alive  
All the tears in my eyes, someone better say it's a dream—_King Diamond, Blue Eyes

**Chapter 13—Sapphy**

Class is always quiet. The only person who speaks is Mr. Seitz and occasionally one of us, if he asks us to. Otherwise it's just the sound of scratching pens, shuffling seats and chalk on chalkboard.

I have noticed that I refer to Denton, Medda, Mr. Seitz, Jack and, Skittery as 'them', whereas everyone else is 'us'. I'm not sure _why_ I make this differentia. It's not like they treat us any differently. Maybe it's because the 'us's are closer to each other.

As I look around class I don't think we're the same type of close that people find. We are all very different. Racetrack in his mismatched clothing, Crutchy, his leg propped up on a chair and his ever-present grin, Boots, tired looking as always, Blink's hair is ruffled, pointing in two directions around the strap that circles his head, David: alert and attentive, his clothing pressed and perfect. We aren't lifelong friends close. Or up-all-night-telling-jokes close. It's a strange close. It's the way we barely trust each other, but we're willing to divulge out deepest, darkest secrets. Anything to relate.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I do my homework in the living room. Homework is algebra and science today. I am not exceptionally good at either of them. I understand the concept of algebra: discovering an unknown, but this doesn't help me to the actual work. I can hardly remember is three times seven is thirty-five or forty.

Finding an unknown. I am afraid of the unknown. Algebra is a bad idea.

Science is biology. The structure, function, growth, origin, evolution, and distribution of living organisms. The creation and execution of life. Chromosomes, atoms and molecules: things that I'm made of. Blood, bone and flesh. I think it is ironic, learning about life when I already know so much about death.

Mr. Seitz wants us to answer questions on mitosis and regeneration. Splitting and becoming. The creation of a counterpart; a new being.

I'm not good at math or science. I'm not logical-mathematical at all. I think that there's so much meaning to a simple question when the answer is just an unknown or 'creation'.

0o0o0o0o0o0

It is early evening. I have a headache. It is gathered in knotted pain between my eyebrows and right behind my ears. I press my forehead against the cold glass of my bedroom window. I stare out the window to the ground below. My eyelashes brush against the pane, droplets of condensation growing on the tips of them.

It is snowing outside. It is a light, wafting sort of snowfall, the kind of snowfall that makes you want to run around and catch snowflakes on your tongue. There is no one outside so the snow falls serenely, slowly blanketing the yard. It is completely undisturbed, but still it falls unevenly.

0o0o0o0o0o0

Through the kitchen window I can see the backyard. The snow has fallen thick on the ground now. It is a huge contrast: white ground on black sky. The snow seems to have muted everything. Even the bright city lights go unnoticed, at least, in our backyard.

There is only one light on in the kitchen. It is soft around the edges, giving no definite end of light, though the corners are still hidden in shadow. I am sitting at the kitchen table, across from Sapphy. My algebra homework is spread out around me and I pound furiously on my calculator; Sapphy scribbles steadily in her notebook.

It is quiet. Every so often Sapphy sniffs and pauses to read what she has written. She is wearing a blue sweater. Sapphire blue, just like her eyes.

But her eyes are hidden now. They are downcast, darting back and forth, across her words. I bet Race loves Sapphy's eyes.

She sighs and massages her forehead; I watch from the corner of my eye. She shuts her notebook and peers at me over her glasses. I get back to pounding on my calculator.

"Need help?" she asks.

I pause, my finger lingering above the '6'. I nod.

"Don't use the calculator; it's confusing. Work out everything on paper so you can see where you go wrong." Her voice is smooth and patient. I turn the calculator off. "You want to isolate the variable," she tells me in the same smooth voice. "Put all the numbers on one side of the equation by switching the sign when you pass the equals sign." She points at numbers and lets me work out how they should all come together.

"Thanks," I mumble, writing in the numbers with thick pencil lines.

"Think of the equals sign like a wall. When it's passed…everything changes." She blinks. Her eyes look larger behind her glasses. They look even bluer than before.

Sapphy swallows and tucks a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. In the dim light her skin is soft and white. There are transparent freckles riding the bridge of her nose. She sniffs again, bringing a wrinkle to her nose before releasing and letting it go smooth again.

I work on the next question. Sapphy is quiet, except for her soft breathing. She checks my work when I'm done. Tears pool along the bottom of her eye, making the eyeball look swollen and the pupil look larger and darker.

"Are…are you OK?" I ask.

Sapphy looks surprised. She shuts her eyes. When she opens them the tears are gone.

"I think you can handle the rest of this by yourself," she says, her voice defensive and firm. "Goodnight." She stands up and leaves the kitchen.

The oven clock reads one-thirty in the morning.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I don't end up sleeping at all. I keep myself awake with instant coffee mix and hot tap water. I sit on my bed and twist my dreadlocks around my fingers. Blink snores softly beside me, a pile of tissue littering the floor by his bed. There is no sound in the house except the creaking of the walls and the occasional gust of wind against the window panes.

My headache is still present. It has turned into a loud, pounding migraine. It screams in my brain, not allowing it to stay on one topic of thought for too long. Our window is coated in a thin layer of ice on the outside. It makes outside look distorted and curvy. The streetlamp's beam is dispersed around the room, filling it with an eerie yellow glow. I smell like coffee and soap.

Blink's eye patch slips up, over his forehead. His eye underneath is non-existent. The only thing there is a shiny red and purple scar.

The house is still.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I hand my homework to Mr. Seitz. He looks cheerful. I have purple bags under my eyes. I have shoved a hat over my hair, which is standing on end. Mr. Seitz doesn't ask me to remove it, unlike regular school. He sees it and chuckles.

Boots is sitting beside me. There is blue-black stubble growing on his chin. He looks tired too. David's button-up shirt is untucked in two places. I wonder if he knows.

Mr. Seitz is writing on the chalkboard. He is talking about Shakespeare and _Twelfth Night_, his personal favourite. He draws a chart on the board and taps his piece of chalk beside it swiftly, to get our attention. It leaves a small chalk mark. Miniscule and circular. Mr. Seitz hands out copies of _Twelfth Night_.

My mind wanders. Looking at Racetrack sends my mind astray to Sapphy. What didn't she want to talk about?

0o0o0o0o0o0

I help Medda set the table for lunch. We are having sandwiches: cucumber and turkey. Sapphy and Charley appear in the doorway. Sapphy takes spoons for the soup and Charley takes the cups. Sapphy falls in beside me.

"Listen," she says, her voice soft and patient like it was last night. "I don't want to talk about it, OK? Ele told me about talking to you. I have accepted everything and I want to move on with it. My family loves me, but they understand what I have to do. I haven't even told Racetrack."

I can see Charley peering at us curiously over the table.

I look at Sapphy. She looks sad and distressed. I nod. "OK. If that's what you want."

I set down the last plate. Medda brings out a platter of sandwiches. The room fills.

**End Chapter**

Wow! She didn't tell Spot her story! Isn't that amazing? Please review! I will try my darndest to update by next week!

**Shoutouts:**

**Erin Go Bragh—**A girl on my soccer team planted the whole naked-50-year-old-in-your-hotel-bed thing in my head. Sorry, I had to pass on the joy.

Yeah, they took down Travelin' Soldier. It made me really upset. It's on my old computer, so I don't even have the file anymore! But we can't kill because without it, where would we post our fantabulous fictions?

I like the mornings. I also like the cold. I'm weird like that. However, my favourite season is fall. I don't like drugs or drinking either. I had champagne at New Years with my friends and I felt funny afterwards. And champagne doesn't taste that good anyways. We have a Goodwill and Salvation Army practically right next to each other (OK, a ten minute walk), but I found a _Hotel California_ record for a dollar (Canadian) at Salvation Army, so it's good in my books right now.

**C.M. Higgins—**Let's all hope that I don't take your idea and make it a reality. I don't think it would be a happy moment, Skittery dying and all. Sorry to take so long with this!

**Margie Driscoll—**Actually, you _can_ complain about my lack of updating. You should. And send me angry emails so that I update sooner. I am _such_ a procrastinator.

**Coin—**We all feel bad for Skittery. I'm just happy my little sister and I get along.

**Shooter O'Brien—**It's OK that you forgot. As long as you got caught up! Thanks!

Aw! Don't cry! (Tom!Muse hands Shooter a box of tissues) And don't work, Crutchy snoring _is_ funny…well, because it's _Crutchy_! I hope you did well at softball!

**Kid Blink's Dreamer—**Yes. Updatedness is goodiness.


	14. Andra

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_It is better to bind your children to you by a feeling of respect and by gentleness, than by fear—_Terence

**Chapter 14—Andra**

Outside the snow is verging on three feet. Denton heard on the radio that the regular school board has called a 'snow day', so he called Mr. Seitz and gave us a 'snow day' too. This wasn't especially exciting as we had already woken up and didn't get to sleep in.

Sapphy, Race, Aurora and David go outside and have a loud, raucous snowball fight. Crutchy puts on his hat and scarf and watches from the porch.

The snow is the heavy, wet sort. The kind that works best for making snowmen. I can see Aurora trying to roll a large ball, but it is rolling awkwardly, into a cube.

When we were younger, I taught Lucas how to make a snowman. I remember, he was four and I was ten; I thought I was the best big brother in the world.

"_Simon," he shouted, running towards me, slowly though the snow. He tripped over his boots, which were a few sizes too bug and fell face first into the ground. I rushed over and rolled him onto his back._

"_Go like this Lucas," I said, lying beside him, waving my arms and splaying my legs. "It's a snow angel."_

_Lucas shrieked with laughter as the snowflakes fell on his nose and the cold air turned his cheeks pin. My mother emerged from the house, clutching a video camera that had accompanied boyfriend-of-the-week._

"_Hello boys," she said with a smile, following our little faces though the lens. _

"_Hello Mommy," we both chorused back._

_The camera watched as I taught Lucas how to roll a head for a snowman. Little bits of grass stuck to the snowball because the snow wasn't very deep._

"_Help me Lucas!" I cried, trying to heave the head onto the body. Lucas and I together lifted it on top._

"_Well done boys," applauded my mother, "Give me a smile Simon!" I grinned, full teeth, into the camera. Then we ran out of film._

Something about winter makes me especially sad. I think winter is tragically beautiful because everything is so lovely, but also so dead.

The wind from last night has died down, as has my migraine. I don't have much to do, so I snap pictures of the quintet below though my bedroom window. They don't see me.

0o0o0o0o0o0

I knock on the black room door. After a second Andra appears and flicks the switch on. "You can come in," she says, "I poured too much solution anyways."

I smile and follow her in.

"I'm always doing stuff like this," she admits, handing me a tray. "I am a klutz. Biggest one in my family, which is really something." She laughs lightly.

"How?" I ask. "Is it something, I mean."

"Oh, y'know, I had nine siblings," she lists them, ticking them off on her fingers as she says their names, "Tom, Lexie, Cindy, Jeremy, Ollie, Chris, Alisa, Andrew and me." She smiled weakly and turned back to her photos.

"Don't you miss them?"

She hung a strand of negatives above her head and sniffed. "Every day. Especially Andrew. He was my twin, you know. Cindy and Ollie were the babies. And Tom. He was my dad's favourite. He was only ten and he was going to go to the Majors in baseball. It was a dream."

"So…uh…what happened?" I studied a negative of Sapphy hitting Race in the side of the head with a handful of snow. The snow was black and Race's hair was clear.

"Oh, you know," Andra sighed, "they were in a car crash. Some dumbass on his way home from the pub or something. And they were gone. So quickly. It was just Dad, Ollie, Alisa, Lexie and me left. Dad found solace in the bottle. Then I left because I couldn't stand the fighting and because people were starting to ask questions about my bruises. And I didn't want them the take my Dad away. But I left Ollie there. What's he going to do?" She sighed again and rubbed her eyebrows, massaging out her tension. "I don't know Spot, I don't know."

She hung her pictures to dry.

"What are those of?" I asked her.

She stared at them for a second, as though unsure herself of what she had captured. "The yard before the snow," she told me. "Mourning doves."

0o0o0o0o0o0

Denton and I sat for a long time in his office talking. I showed him my pictures and asked about Andra's.

'Sometimes," he said slowly, as if choosing his words carefully, "the pictures mean nothing at all. Or, sometimes they mean everything."

"How can you tell?" I asked.

"Spot," said Denton, "you should know by now. Sometimes you can't."

**End Chapter**

I'm so sorry this was short. But I hope it was good enough to make up for it's lacking in length.

**Shoutouts:**

**C.M. Higgins—**Hey, this was Andra. That's you, right?

**Kid Blink's Dreamer—**Me? Make fun of you? I wouldn't dream of it dear!

**Nanii—**Now that I've been danmed, can I do bad things and get away with it? (thinks evilly) muahhaha!

**Madmbutterfly713—**Thanks! And thanks for reading the whole thing just now. You rock!

**Margie Driscoll—**ha ha, you didn't find me! I betmy spies threw you off at the border, right?

**Utopia Today—**You make me sound smarter than I really am. I like you!

**Dreamer110—**I like deep things too. But not _all_ deep things. Like water. The ocean is scary!


	15. Boots

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_Everywhere is war_—Bob Marley; _War_

**Chapter 15—Boots **

The snow in the streets turned grey very quickly once the snow is cleared. Cars had begun using the streets again and everything smelt wet and dank. The heavy snow had trailed all over the foyer, but it melted into large, clear puddles.

The downstairs kitchen smelt like chocolate. Everyone sat around the table, drinking hot chocolate and playing cards. I tacked my photos to the hall walls and scrawled under them _Carefree?_ in heavy blue crayon.

Autumn came up the stairs and saw me. "Don't tell them where I am," she said coldly, then went outside. It took me a moment to realize she was only wearing a large t-shirt and her pajama bottoms. She wasn't wearing any shoes.

I headed downstairs and ran into Medda on the staircase. Her face was flushed and happy-looking.

"There's hot chocolate on the stove, Spot," she said with a smile.

"Uh...okay."

Medda continued up the stairs. I called after her retreating back. "Um…Medda? Autumn just left."

She looked at me for a minute before turning up the stairs. "Get Denton for me," she said at the top, her voice calm and even.

I ran fast down the remaining steps, panic mounting suddenly. I wasn't sure why, but there was something in the calmness of Medda's voice that made me frightened. "Denton!" I yelled, bursting into his office. He was sitting with Boots, who was looking solemn like usual.

"Spot? What's wrong?" asked Denton, pausing mid-sentence.

"Medda," my voice caught in my chest and I hiccough. "Autumn—"

And before I could continue, Denton rose from the chair.

"Wait here," he said to Boots, rushing past me and out the door. After a few seconds Denton's footsteps faded from the stairs.

"Sorry," I said to Boots after a second's silence. Boots shrugged in a very characteristic way. He scratched his stubbly chin.

"It's okay."

Boots' hair looked grey-blue; he still had those bags under his eyes that I remember clearly from my first day.

"Are you tired?" I asked as Boots yawns.

"Always," he said with a slight smile and another yawn.

"I know what you mean," I said politely, softly.

"No," he said just as politely, scratching his chin again. "I don't think you do. I'm always tired, but never asleep. Never awake either," he sniffed and blinked very slowly. "It's what living in a dream would be like. It's very unreal…" he laughed quietly, "Well, not really, since it is real, of course."

"Insomnia?" I guessed.

"Maybe," he said sleepily, "probably." He gives me a weak smile. "I haven't slept a night since Christmas two years ago."

Boots' eyes drooped and he began to tell a story. It was long and detailed in a strange way. It seemed like he was still living in the memory of what happened to him almost three years ago.

"I remember that winter. It was cold with a strong brittle wind, so strong that no snow dared settle for very long. My best friend, Marquis, and I were at his house having dinner with his family. He had a big family. His older brother and sister were there with their families. His grandparents were there too, and his aunts, uncles and cousins. Things were warm. The air was thick and heavy with the smell of turkey and cranberries.

"His cousin, Anton, Marquis and I were in Marquis' room, playing video games and smoking Camels that Anton had stolen from his dad's dresser. Anton was blowing the blue-grey smoke out the window, where it hung vibrantly in the cold air. Anton would flick the cigarette when it burned too low; the ashes would float downwards slowly, caught up in the wind. They would flicker red and back to grey in the cold air.

"'Let's get out of here,' Anton said, stubbing out his cigarette out on the window sill. Marquis shrugged and wrapped the controller cord around the controller.

"'Where are we going?' asked Marquis, flicking off the television so that it hummed and flickered before turning black.

"Anton shrugged and tucked the pack of Camels into his pocket. 'Just out,' he said as we flicked the light off and went into the main room. Marquis kissed his mother on the cheek and she laughed, giving him a one-armed hug, grinning so that you could see all the way back, right to her gold-capped teeth. Outside it was very cold. The streets were empty; everyone was inside, avoiding the blustery winds in the shelter of their homes. The wind bit at our cheeks so that they quickly became numb and frozen.

"'Can we go back now?' asked Marquis, blowing onto his hands so that fog leaked out from between his fingers. Anton shot Marquis a look and we turned into a small park. It had two broken swings and a graffitied preschool yellow slide. Anton pulled another Camel out of his jacket pocket. He twirled the cigarette between his fingers and tapped it on the palm of his hand.

"'What are we waiting for?' I asked impatiently, stamping my feet on the ground to get the circulation back into them. Anton shushed me and tucked the cigarette behind his ear. After three minutes I heard footsteps moving in the distance. The rustle of jackets. Anton looked in the direction it was coming. Two boys came into view. They both had on parka jackets with furry hoods that blocked their faces.

"'Anton,' growled one of the voices. The boy shook Anton's hand. His hand was thick and had rough-looking yellow calluses on the insides of some of the fingers. Anton smiled shakily and pulled his hand away fast, stuffing it into his pocket.

"'Who're your friends?' asked the boy in his growly voice.

"Anton's eyes darted over us. 'This is my cousin and his friend.'

"'Your bodyguards?' asked the boy with a bark of a laugh. Anton laughed nervously. 'Got my money?' said the boy suddenly.

"Anton shifted from foot to foot. Marquis and I glanced at each other, worried. I remember the look—afraid and desperate. Anton cleared his throat. 'Er…no, see, I…'

"The boy shook his parka-covered head. 'No, no excuses. I told you that this was your last chance.' The boy's friend pulled something out of his coat. It was smooth and shiny. He pointed the revolver at Anton in one swift movement. Anton shivered and backed away. I tensed and dared not move. The boy cocked the gun.

"'Listen, man, gimme another chance," begged Anton. The boy paused.

"'Double it,' he said. Anton nodded quickly. 'And as some incentive…' the boy waved his hand and his friend pulled the gun around, aimed, and fired. The bang echoed in the still night. When he fell, Maqruis' blood splattered all over my boots.

"That was the night I stopped sleeping."

I blinked and stared at Boots. "Is that true?" I asked. "How do you remember it so well?"

"I'm a writer," said Boots. "I remember things."

I didn't say anything for a while. "So, is it true?" I asked again.

Boots didn't answer. His eyes were shut. He was asleep. On his boots I could see a few specs of blood on the toe of his right boot.

**End Chapter**


	16. Charley

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_Goodbye mother…  
Can you feel me like I feel you?  
I don't want to kill time  
I want it to live_—Underworld;_ m.e._

**Chapter 16—Charley **

There is a window between the boys' and girls' floor. I was sitting on it with my knees to my chin, my back against the red brick. The window was frosty and the snow on the ledge was thick, soft, and undisturbed. My arms were covered in goosebumps all the way up to the sleeve of my black t-shirt.

Aurora came downstairs, humming and smiling. She gave me a half-wave and disappeared down the hall, her straight brown hair moving very little as she walked. I could see an almost-black birthmark on the back of her arm.

My window ledge was cold. I looked up the stairs, towards the girls' hall. The carpet was dark green and flat from constant wear; faded down the middle and richer on the outside. Unsocked feet came down the stairs.

"Hey," said Charley, "you stole my spot."

Her hair was full, the curls holding each other up so that they framed her pale face. Her neck looked terrible thin.

"Sorry," I said. I swung my legs down. "I'll leave."

Charley sat down next to me. Her jeans had a big hole above her knee, which was as pale as her face, but thinner and bonier. It jutted out of the hole like a soft round bone. I looked away, down to her feet, which were small and had whitish-pink crescents as nails.

"What're you doing here?" she asked.

I leaned my head against the brick wall. The stone was rough on my temple. "I don't know. Just watching." Out the window people were passing in the streets. Many were laden down with shopping bags. It was December 14 and Christmas was drawing near.

Charley turned a bit to watch too. "I like Christmas," she said. Her fingers brushed the windowpane, making the tips wet with condensation.

I leaned my head back on the glass. My hair stuck to the moist window. "Yeah, I guess I do too."

0o0o0

We had lasagna and Caesar salad for dinner. Medda was tired looking. Autumn wasn't at the table. We weren't talking very much. Jack had fallen into a half sleep; his fork was hovering between his mouth and his plate, his eyes glassy and staring forward.

Coin poured herself water from the pitcher. Crutchy eat with noticeably less zeal than usual. Charley was sitting next to me. Her eyes darted to Autumn's chair before she looked back down again. No one was smiling.

Not even Aurora. "Where's Autumn?" she asked.

Medda lowered her lasagna-loaded fork. "Autumn is sleeping."

Two days before, the day Autumn ran away, we were watching _It's a Wonderful Life_ on TV. Medda and Denton were out looking for Autumn, so Jack and Skittery were in charge. They were making us vegetable soup and Pillsbury garlic bread. Ele, David, Coin and I were setting the table, minus three spots that belonged to Autumn, Medda and Denton.

Even from where we were downstairs we could hear the door swing open and bang against the wall. We stopped setting the table and listened. Feet traveled upstairs. We dropped what we were holding and headed for the steps.

Jack cut us off in the hallway. "Stay downstairs. Go finish setting the table and then we'll start dinner. What's going on up there is none of your business."

The footsteps stopped and then started again. They were slow and I had the idea that someone was being carried.

Half an hour later, when we were eating, Denton came downstairs, got himself a plate and ate without words.

Two days later Autumn still hadn't surfaced from her room. There was a gloomy atmosphere over the dinner table and the food didn't taste quite as good as normal. I didn't like the way things were turning out. Racetrack wasn't even sneaking looks at Sapphy from across the table. This was a low point. The togetherness that we had achieved since Thanksgiving was falling away and I feared what would happen when one of us had to leave.

0o0o0

The next morning I stumbled downstairs and poured myself I cup of coffee. I love the smell of coffee. It's so rich, comforting and full bodied. I brought my cup of coffee up to my room where I got a book, _Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy_, that Crutchy had lent me. Then, leaving Blink alone, who was sleeping on his stomach with his face pressed into his pinstriped pillow, I climbed to steps to the window ledge where I sat and read.

After a few minutes Charley came down and sat next to me. Charley looked very pretty just then. In a way I hadn't seen her before. I think everyone looks good after they just wake up because they are refreshed and natural. Charley's hair was even puffier and fuller than the day before.

"Can I have some?" she asked, pointing to my mug. I handed it to her and she took a few sips of my coffee. When she handed it back her blue eyes searched my face quickly before darting back down. I shut my book.

"Sleep well?" I asked.

Charley shrugged and pulled her the hood of her black Ramones sweater over her hair. "I had a dream."

I leaned over and put my book on the ground and then put the mug on top of it. "What about?"

Charley shrugged and looked out the window. Her eyes were framed with dark lashes. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater over her hands so that they hid her bitten, black-polished nails. "You wouldn't want to hear. Just go back to reading." She didn't look away from the window and I didn't bend over for my book.

"I do want to hear."

She turned her head and looked me straight in the eye. "Why would you want more of a burden? That's what it would be, if I told you, a burden." She paused and, almost whispering, "I wouldn't want to hear your story. It would be depressing."

It was like a slap in the face. I looked out the window and Charley followed my lead and looked out the window as well. I pressed my forehead against it and sighed. "It's like my therapy. You want to get it out, I want to take it in. It makes me feel like I'm not alone."

"That's ridiculous."

I shut my eyes. "How?"

"That's what they're always saying. It's what they're saying in all those TV shows. But when I tell Medda I feel terrible and I don't eat for days. I don't want to tell you."

I knew I should back off. I knew I should, but there was something about Charley. Something about her made me want to know what was wrong. "Haven't you even told Denton?"

We were both still staring out the window. I could hear her breathing. "I haven't told Denton. I can't tell him."

One of my dreadlocks fell from where they're held up by a blue elastic band that I had found in the kitchen. It grazed the side of my face. I brushed it back behind my ear. "Why not?"

Charley turned her head even farther away from me so that she was looking at the space where the window meets the brick. When she spoke her voice was muffled. "I can't trust men. I can't and I don't want to talk about it." She sniffed and wiped her face with the cuff of her sweater.

"OK," I said. "OK." I leaned over and picked up my mug and book. I took a sip, offered some to Charley and began to read. I had read almost a full chapter before she said anything more.

"I'm sorry Spot, but I just can't trust men. I can't." She looked at me. There were tears welling up in her eyes.

I shook my head and looked back at her. "Just look at me. Let it out. Say it fast."

Charley exhaled. What she said next came out in a jumble of words, mixed with gasps and sobs. "I don't know why he did it…right in front of me…and I cried and cried, and so did she…and I don't know why, I don't know why…I don't…his name was Harold…they got married when I was thirteen and I was the Maid Of Honor…she was so happy…and then, she was so…so…I remember the first time…he said he was sorry and that the bruises would heal, but not his broken heart if she left…my mother…she was….she was…a romantic; she fell for it…and he hit me…said I was fat, said it was disgusting…I would cry….I would cry for my daddy and he would tell me to shut up…and then my mom died…she died and he wasn't even there…he didn't even care, even though he put here in the hospital…he said no man would ever…would ever care about me…because I was fat and I was stupid and I was…I was trash…and men hate women like me…"

And then she began crying. She was crying so hard that I couldn't hear her. I reached over and touched her hand. "He was wrong. There's nothing wrong with you."

She just shook her head. Her eyes were squeezed shut but tears were still falling out, down the sides of her face and over her cheekbones. "Yes there is. There is. Things are wrong with me. And you just don't understand."

I reached up and took her face in my hands. "Charley," she shook her head out. I took her head in my hands again. "Charley, look at me. Look at me. My brother was killed right in front of me. _Right in front of me _by my mother's boyfriend. I understand. And there's nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all."

I wrapped my arms around her and she didn't resist. We sat like that for a while, Charley crying while I hugged her, shushing her and feeling my shirt grow wet with tears. When I finally looked around I saw Autumn sitting at the top of the steps, watching us.

**End Chapter**

((OK yawlll. (Yes, the 'w' is necessary.) I am so, so, so, so, so sorry that I haven't updated in forever-and-a-half! However, this was a long chapter so I hope this can hold you until I manage to drag myself out of the procrastinating mood I have been I for the last few months. Sorry that I don't give proper shoutouts, but I have been insanely absent-minded and I am just trying to churn out the fiction. I think that, at this moment, it is enough for me to have written this chapter. Please, if you are even still reading, review. Hopefully I will have the next chapter out sooner.))

**Shoutouts:**

**Shooter O'Brien**

**Margie Driscoll**

**madmbutterfly713**

**FlatOutCrazy**

**C.M. Higgins**

**Kid Blink's Dreamer**

**COIN (Coin)**


	17. Happy Birthday

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_Happy Birthday Revolution  
I'm standing here  
Watching the world  
Fall apart_—The Levellers; _Happy Birthday Revolution_

**Chapter 17—Happy Birthday**

In the morning there were streamers hanging in the staircase. Aurora was running around the house, tossing confetti with one hand, the other lingering behind, as if she was dragging Jules along with her.

"What's going on?" I asked.

Aurora stopped and faced me, looking straight into my eyes. Something played through her eyes, a flicker of something mischievous; as if she was in on a secret that no one knew but her. "It's Sapphy's birthday. She's eighteen." Aurora held up eight fingers. Then she threw confetti in the air so that it got stuck in my hair.

Aurora ran away and down to the basement where Medda and Denton were busy making Sapphy's favourite breakfast. Sapphy was sitting at the table and someone had tied a bunch of balloons to her chair. They kept knocking her in the head, but Sapphy just laughed and pushed them back.

"Happy eighteenth Sapphy," I said, sitting down at the table.

She smiled and pushed her glasses up her nose. "Thanks Spot."

0o0o0o0

At dinner that night we had little 'party' for Sapphy. She was smiling. Her vibrant eyes were moist and there was confetti hanging in her hair. Her glasses were resting on her head, holding her hair off of her face. The lenses were glinting in the light. She was wearing a cotton dress. It was long and blue, like her eyes. Racetrack was sitting next to her at the table. The kept sneaking looks at each other. No one noticed except for me.

And Denton. Once I saw him looking. He smiled sadly.

We had cake and sang Sapphy _Happy Birthday_. Everyone, that is, except for Autumn, who had come out of her room but was sitting moodily at the table. However, Aurora sang for two, her voice echoed by a second line. Both from her mouth, but the second one higher.

With a long kitchen knife Sapphy cut smoothly through the surface of the cake, turning the '18' into a '1' and an '8'. With Denton's help, she scooped a large piece of vanilla cake onto each of our plates. While we ate Sapphy opened the small presents that we have managed to scrounge up. Mine was a large piece of paper, filled with pictures of everyone (which I put together earlier that day). In the middle was her flashing a peace sign. Denton an Medda gave her a stack of CDs from Broadway shows, including _Les Miserables_,_ Guys and Dolls_, _Into the Woods_ and _Wicked_. Sapphy smiled a lot.

"Thanks everyone," she said, looking around the table.

Crutchy was wearing his party hat to the side so that when he turned around he hit people in the head. Again we all wished her a happy birthday.

"I think Sapphy would like to tell you all something," said Denton. He looked to Sapphy who appeared worried. She cleared her throat.

"This whole birthday thing, it's really great. I'm so, so happy that you all care enough to get me stuff. And you sang for me. And everyone's having a great time. I love VRCT. For the last few years it has been my home and I've loved it. Everything has always felt safe here."

We were all beginning to look confused. Denton smiled comfortingly.

"But sometimes you have to do what you don't want think is safe because you have to live. After a while you have to leave your sanctuary and venture into the unknown, otherwise…" she sniffed and I realized that she was crying "…otherwise you'll never grow up."

No one was smiling anymore. We all looked confused or worried. Ele spoke first. "Do you mean…you mean you're leaving us?"

Racetrack looked angry. Sapphy didn't answer.

Racetrack stood up roughly, knocking over his chair in the process, and stormed out of the room. Sapphy made a motion as if to call to him, but closed her mouth and looked at her lap. Boots got up and chased after Racetrack while Charley and Andra began to clean the table.

The confetti in Sapphy's hair didn't look carefree and festive anymore.

Tears ran from her blue, blue eyes, over her chin, and down her neck. She hadn't eaten her cake.

0o0o0o0

Racetrack was sitting outside in the backyard. Even after much coaxing from Boots and Denton he refused to come inside. It was cold outside and I watched him for awhile from the bathroom window. He was pacing at first and drinking sneaking sips out of a bottle. I put on my shoes and got my jacket from the front hall closet. It was cold outside when I opened the door and joined him.

"Absence," said Racetrack drunkenly upon seeing me, "makes the heart grow fonder."

He laughed crookedly, in a tone that chilled my bones.

"Race?" I asked. "Are you OK?"

He didn't answer. The light of a car passing behind the house hit him. It illuminated the tears that fell down his face, making his cheekbones a silvery-white.

"Race," I tried calmly, "let's get you inside, OK?"

Again he didn't answer me.

The yard was cold and Christmas lights glitter from rooftops. There was a thin frosting of snow on the walls and the ground shimmered with moisture.

I tried to grab Racetrack's arm. He shook me off and turned away.

"Don't you ever feel alone?" he asked, clear and precise, without a quaver, without slurring. This time I didn't answer. He took no heed. "At Christmas, do you miss your family? What about your brother?"

The cold ripped at my cheeks and my eyes filled with tears. With more force this time: "Race, let's get inside."

"Who did you used to spend the holidays with? Friends? Did you have a lot of friends Spot?"

No.

"No."

Racetrack looked up. "Really? Mr. High-and-Mighty. Prancing in here like we should be fixed. Like it's our fault we're not over it. Autumn told me she saw you talking to Charley, even though Charley won't talk to anyone."

I swallowed. "Race, let's get—"

"It's not that easy _Simon_," he hissed mockingly. "It's not as easy as you think. I can still feel the belt hitting my back, and you expect me to be just over it?"

"Racetrack, I—" the world spun, "I never said that."

He was smiling now; a lopsided, misshapen smile, filled with malice and malevolence. "No, but you thought it, admit it."

"No, Race, let's get in—"

I reached for his arm. He shook me off roughly.

"Don't tell me what to do," he spat. "My old man never had a drinking problem, y'know? I just think he liked hearing me scream."

My stomach churned. "Race, I'm really sorry, but really, we should—"

His fist collided with my nose. My eyes watered and something warm and thick ran over my lip. I licked it off. Salty. My own blood.

Racetrack squirmed like a child in a schoolyard fight. He punched blindly and kicked roughly, the whole time determined and hot-headed. I tried to push him off but his beating fists and flailing limbs were pressing me against the wall. His hand flew back, covered in my blood. His elbow collided with my neck, making me choke and sputter.

The door to the backyard opened, presenting a hazy silhouette. My eyes rolled back and my knees hit the pavement.

**End Chapter**

((OK, OK, I think I deserve some credit. This is my second update in two days. (pauses for cheers…none come) Fine, I see that everyone is mad at me. Please forgive me. Or, if you really are mad, tell me so in a review. It's that button down there, at the bottom of your screen. C'mon now, gimme a piece of your mind! Chew the heck out of me!))

((Oh yeah, thanks so much to everyone who reviewed last chapter. I will definitely try to respond to the next set of reviews properly.))


	18. Kid Blink

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_1. Friday nights  
__2. Neon lights  
__3. Find a party crowd  
__4. Jukebox  
__5. Let it rock  
__6. Let your hair down  
__7. Howl at the moon  
__8. Shoot a little pool  
__9. Get out on the dance floor with somebody new  
__10. Let the tables turn  
__11. Let the bridges burn  
__12. Let go of the memory  
__That's the mend a broken heart, make a new start, 12 step recovery_—12 Step Recovery; Paul Brandt

**Chapter 18—Kid Blink**

_I am walking downtown on the New York City streets. It is snowing. There is a chiming in my ear; there are people dressed as elves standing on the street corner, ringing bells, and collecting spare change. My left hand is warm. I look down and there is Lucas, clutching it. He looks up at me and smiles. He is missing one of his teeth. _

"_We're going to get something nice for Mommy, aren't we?" Lucas asks._

_I want to tell him no. No. I will not get anything for the mother who let us get hurt. But instead I say, "Of course Lucas. Something nice."_

"_A sweater?" guesses Lucas._

_I nod. "Sure, a sweater."_

_We go into a store and Lucas wanders into the kids section. I lose sight of him for a minute. I don't remember letting go of his hand. _

"_Simon?" I hear him calling. He sounds scared. "Simon?"_

_He is standing in front of a mirror._

"_Simon, what's wrong with me?" _

_I look at him. I study is face. His thin, pointed nose, his sandy-blonde hair, his pale cheeks and his clear green eyes. "There's nothing wrong with you," I tell him._

_A tear runs down Lucas's cheek. "Then why," he gulps and hiccoughs, "then why…?" he points at the mirror._

_I look. I gasp and close my eyes. His face is bruised; swollen around the eyes. His nose looks broken and there is fresh matted blood in his hair. Though he is standing his leg is jutting out at an awkward angle. His hands look very, very pale. "Just don't look Lucas. Don't look. It's a trick mirror, OK?" I turn away from the mirror, but he is gone. When I look back to the mirror he is still there, battered and bruised. I reach out to him, but my hand hits the glass and stops. He cries and calls out but I can't hear him. I turn and run down the aisles of clothes until I find myself back on the street. _

_I take the subway to Grand Central, where I switch trains. Three stops until mine. I get off in my old neighborhood and walk until I'm in front of our house. The lights are off and the yard is windswept. I hear a clanging again and I turn. There is one of those elves ringing the bell. I try to speak, to ask him where my mom is, but I can't. The elf shakes his collection cup. _

Someone inside my head was pounding on my ears. They hit them over and over, pushing a knot of pain into my brain, between my eyebrows. My fingertips were cold, as if I had just come in from the cold, but I was lying in a bed.

Something cold and wet was pressed against my brow. I turned hastily.

There was murmuring and then:

"Spot, are you awake?"

It was Medda.

I tried to open my eyes, but the lights were on. I groaned.

"Turn the lights down," hissed Medda to someone, "the lights!"

There was a soft click and I tried to open my eyes again. This time I could see Medda. Her red hair was down and she was wearing a red oxford-style shirt. She reached over and adjusted the wet cloth on my brow.

Someone moved in the shadow behind Medda.

"Who else is here?" I asked in a mutter.

Medda shifted my pillow and pressed something onto my temple, which caused a momentary severe pounding in my head.

"It's Andra."

Andra was fumbling with something. She handed Medda a roll of gauze, which Medda secured about my face.

"Where am I?" I asked. I tried to sit up. Medda placed her hand squarely on my chest and pushed me back down gently.

"One of the spare rooms."

I could see the slit of light from the hallway. It was clear and straight around the door—unwavering and bright.

"Where's Racetrack?"

Medda's hand faltered. She sighed so that I could barely hear it. Andra stops moving behind her.

_Racetrack's run away_. I thought it, but I didn't dare believe it.

"Racetrack's waiting out in the hall for you."

Oh.

Oh, so he hadn't run away. Once again I had jumped to conclusions.

"I want," I said quietly. Andra shifted nervously. "I want to talk to him."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea Spot. He's not…stable right now."

I swallowed. "Please. Please Medda, please."

Medda looked over her shoulder and nodded. Andra opened the door to a flood of light. The curled up figure of a boy was lying with his back against the wall. Racetrack looked up. Surprised, he stood and walked into the room cautiously.

Medda clicked the First Aid kit shut and left the room with Andra in tow.

"Sit down," I said.

Racetrack looked at me sadly. His eyes were hollow and his cheeks were matted with sweat and tears. He didn't move.

"Sit down," I said again with more force.

He moved for the chair and sat in it gingerly.

"Are you OK?" I asked him. He looked at me like I was insane.

"Yeah. I guess. Listen, I just want to thank you for not fighting back."

I tried to shrug, but my chest and shoulders ached. "I can't fight."

Racetrack sniffed. "Me neither."

I supposed his barbaric, melee-style of attack showed that, but I ignored his comment. "Could've fooled me."

Racetrack didn't answer. He stared at his lap, blinking and ashamed.

"Racetrack? Do I really make is seem like you should be…" my voice quakes "better?"

He looked up, scared. "I didn't say that, did I?"

I neck begged me not to nod, but I did anyways.

"I'm so, so sorry. Really, Spot, I didn't mean it."

I hesitated because I wanted to believe him, but I didn't know how or if I should. I didn't know what everyone thought of me, and what if it was just that?

"No problem Race. Nothing personal, right?"

0o0o0o0

It is around three o'clock the next day when Blink comes to visit me. I know it's around this time because I hear many steps on the stairs, as if 'school' has just gotten out.

"Hey," said Blink.

I cracked my eyes opened a bit so that I could see him. "Hey."

Blink sat down and shifted in his seat. "You look…"

"Like crap?" I guessed.

Blink laughed a bit. "Yeah, I guess that's right. Race sure worked you over."

I reached up and rubbed my eyebrow. It fingers hit a scab on my brow. I scratched it and sniffed. "I guess he did, didn't he?"

We sat in silence for a minute. Blink tugged on the corner of the blanket. "Y'know, I haven't seen anyone _that_ beat up since—"

"Rocky?"

"No, since a year-and-a-half ago. On the day I came to VRCT."

I opened my eyes the whole way.

"Yeah," Blink half-smiled, "I got in a fight at school. With this kid named Samuel Meyers. It's not what you think. I think that it was my fault. I wasn't a nice person. I made fun of him because he was on second string on all of the school teams and he couldn't qualify for any events in track and field. I was a jerk."

"And what happened?" I asked. I tried to sit up, but my neck felt bruised and swollen, not allowing me to.

"He had enough of it one day and jumped me at school. Pounded my eye in, but he was wearing his class ring and my eye is permanently damaged now."

"Why didn't you fight back?"

Blink sighed and shifted. "Probably because I thought I deserved it. I thought that I deserved to have my ass kicked and to lose my eye and to be embarrassed like that, after he was embarrassed by me for so long. So I ran away from school and I was wandering around Queens when Denton found me. I haven't seen my family since. I call them sometimes, but we don't talk for long. They're busy people."

"What happened to Samuel?" I tried to prop myself up again but failed. I lay very still.

"He got suspended. He wrote me a letter. My mom sent it here. He apologized for beating me up and everything. It turns out the only reason he couldn't play first string for any teams is because of his anger problem. He's getting help now. He just graduated from high school last year."

I blinked. My eyes felt more dry than usual. "How do you know?"

"Samuel's my best friend. None of my so-called 'real' friends kept in touch after I left. Only Samuel. And I've helped him through treatment and he's helped me deal with losing my eye. For me this place isn't about the violence—it's about my recovery."

Recovery.

I shut my eyes again. Blink got up to leave.

"Blink?" He paused in the door. "Does it seem like I expect you all to be better?"

The floorboards creaked. "No," he said matter-of-factly, "but we should all begin to expect it of ourselves."

**End Chapter**

_((What I'm currently doing: Typing this and listening to Of All the Gin Joints in All the World by Fall Out Boy on pandora dot com (GO THERE)_

_What I'm thinking: I hope nobody's mad at me for procrastinating and not updating. I really have no excuse. It is despicable. Also thinking: should I have mentioned that Samuel is Mush, so will everyone figure it out by the whole 'Meyers' deal-y._

_Homework I should be doing: Er…(think) I might have a German test tomorrow. And I have a Business test on Monday. But I did my drama_

_Favourite thing about today: We did some cryptology thing during second period (when I have German) in the library. All grade 10 math classes this semester. But they segregated the guys and the girls. The guys learned about counting cards and stuff in the caf. _

_Least favourite thing about today: I was washing a cup this morning to put raspberries into for lunch and I managed to soak my sleeve. This resulted in my being late because I walked around the house going 'arrgh!' for a few minutes. I am still wearing the shirt._

_Why am I doing this: Because I think you all probably want to hear about my very interesting life. And because I feel like I should give y'all _something_ since shoutouts have been outlawed.)) _


	19. Jack

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_It's hard to believe I'm still alive  
Hey, I'm sorry mama  
Yeah, I was just a little boy  
It hurts, it hurts so bad sometimes  
Feeling not many joy  
And I've landed in a place I don't belong_—I've Landed; Rehab

**Chapter 19—Jack **

Sapphy had been gone for two days. The bruise on my knee was receding healthily and the scab beneath my eye was drying up predictably.

Racetrack was more withdrawn than usual. The night before he'd tried to run away, but Denton met him at the door and convinced him to stay. It was late and I was truing to fall asleep, distracted by the throbbing bruises on my ribs.

The light in the hall flicked on, displaying a dim line around the door. "Where are you going?" asked Denton, not a demand, with a touch of curiosity in the words. As if Racetrack was just going out to the corner store for a gallon of milk. The sentence hung darkly in the air. I strained my ears.

"I've got to leave. Get out of here." As always, Racetrack's voice was confidant and sure.

"Just stay until the morning and then I will drive you wherever you want," said Denton, seeming next to uncaring that Racetrack wanted to leave.

The argued for ten…fifteen minutes. I heard heavy shoes on the stairs and a door creaking open down the hall.

The next morning Racetrack was still here.

0o0o0o0

"Spot, could you please help Jack with the groceries today? Skittery has some…other errands to do."

"Sure."

Medda smiles. "And it will be good to get you out and about."

I knew she meant because of my cuts and bruises. I had been mostly brooding in my room, only surfacing for meals and classes. Charley had come by a few times to ask if I wanted to play Crazy Eights, but I didn't answer the door. I watched Sapphy move her stuff out from my bedroom window.

But stepping out into the midday air with Jack was refreshing. It soothed my bruises and made my movements feel more graceful and smooth. In the car, Jack cracked down a window. "Do you mind?" he asked, pulling a lighter out of the cup holder. I shook my head and cracked down my own window, burying my hands in my pockets. I watched as Jack pulled a thin, handmade cigarette from a pocket. He lit it up and the car filled with a sweet, hazy smoke that made my head spin.

"Jack…is that a joint?" I asked.

He blew some of the smoke out his window. "Yeah…you want some?" Reluctantly he began to hand it over.

"No."

"Good, didn't think I could spare any."

The car filled with smoke, until the windows were a bit clouded. I was feeling lightheaded, but kind of giddy. I focused on breathing in as little as possible. "Should you be driving?"

He laughed a bit, sounding mellower already. "Don't give me that. Listen, I've been having a rough week, OK?"

We pulled into the parking lot of the Piggly Wiggly and Jack turned off the engine. The radio was still on, blaring some upbeat rock song by a band called Lagwagon. Jack took a short toke on the joint.

"So…where's Skittery?"

Jack rested his head back against the headrest, so his face was pointed towards the roof of the car. "Gone to visit his jackass brother in rehab." He laughed a bit and smoke poofed out of his nostrils. "Bastard beat Skitts and he still goes to see him. Thinks it's 'the right thing to do'." It was clear that Jack didn't agree.

"Have you ever been to rehab?"

He fixed me with a glazed look, as though attempting to comprehend what I had just said. "Man, I don't need to do rehab. Sure I dabble in a bit of this and a bit of that, but I'm OK."

"And what's Skittery's brother in for?"

"He OD'ed on coke and heroin a few months ago, but he was pretty heavy into Crystal Meth too, apparently. Skitts said their house was always littered with sliced up beer cans. Says he did his Meth off of them. I've always used just a plain old light bulb, but I guess a can could work too…" his eyes were unfocused. He took a final hit on his joint.

"You're a fuckin' addict," I said, trying to catch his eye. The clear gray eyes that I wasused to seeing on him were more vacant and lonely than I'd ever seen them. They looked watery and empty, that look people get right before crying.

Jack's eyes narrowed sharply for a minute before relaxing and staring blankly out the front windshield. "Nah, I'm a connoisseur," he said simply, matter-of-factly. He laughed again. "Let's go." He pushed the door open and stepped into the slushy parking lot. "Besides," he said, as an afterthought, "If your mother had a fondness for her twelve-year-old son's naked body, you'd want to take something every now and then. Just to forget."

I froze. So did Jack. He frowned, thinking about what he had just said. Then he turned around and threw up, right in front of a shiny 2004 Acura.

**End Chapter**

_(('K, so I'm off the London and Paris in a few days. Maybe I'll update before then. I've been kind of bored and uninspired, but I thought I'd better catch up. Sorry if this chapter was a little lacking in the…content area. Don't be mad, be glad that at least I hauled my lazy bum off the couch to write this.))_

_((Oh, in other new, got my license in the mail today. My picture don't such, so, whaddya know? I guess life's gonna turn out a'ight. Heh.))_


	20. Autumn

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_All she wants from me's to say goodbye_—Black Cat; Boy

**Chapter 20—Autumn **

It's late at night. The snow is drifting silently by my window and the streetlight is casting their wafting shadows around the room. I managed to drive Jack and I home after shopping. Luckily the car was automatic and I picked it up pretty fast. Jack is now sleeping on the sofa in the living room with an ice pack on his brow and a soft, distressed murmur on his lips.

Blink is sleeping already. The foot of his bed is littered with text books and t-shirts. He's wearing his jeans and a sweater, sleeping on top of his sheets. I'm hugging my pillow to me chest and staring at the floor, watching the snowflake shadows dancing on the carpet.

_Thump!_

Directly above me something hits the ground…hard.

_Thump! Thumpthump! Bangbangbang!_

Blink jerks out of his sleep. "Whazzgoinon?" he asks blearily. I point at the ceiling. Blink gets out of be, knocking his math textbook onto the floor, and opens the door. "What's going on, man?" he asks again.

"I don't know, I was asleep," comes Crutchy's voice from across the hall.

Upstairs a girl screams and Blink takes off. "Crutchy, get Denton and Medda," he yells, but Skittery darts past the door, already on his way downstairs. I leap out of bed, getting tangled in my sheets and trailing them halfway across the room before I manage to lose them. I follow Blink, who is bounding up the steps, two at a time.

The lights in the girls hall is on and Andra is dragging a sobbing Aurora out of her room. "What's happening?" I ask Ele frantically. Her choppy hair is tied into a short, pokey ponytail and she's wearing a soft-looking long-sleeved navy blue t-shirt with her pajama bottoms.

"It's Autumn," she says, her pale brown eyes are wide and fearful. "She's done it again. But it's worse now."

I feel panic growing in my chest. _'She's done _it_ again.' _Just like my first night. I remember Medda, rushing downstairs with her hair wild and her green eyes frightened. _'Bryan, she's done it again.'_ But for the three months I've been here, I still don't know what 'it' is.

"Come on Spot!" shouts Blink, rushing into Autumn and Aurora's room. I sprint after him.

Autumn is sitting on the floor, holding a razor blade in her hand. On her left arm a long cut runs from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. There is blood dripping off of the blade and the cut is blurry around the edges as the blood seeps along her skin. She looks tired but upset and her head droops to the side, the way people who are about to fall asleep do. "Don't let her fall asleep!" I scream, rushing to her side.

Blink takes her right hand in his and gently takes the blade out of her loose fingertips. With his free hand Blink cradles Autumn's chin. "Hey, hey, hey, hey," he says softly, "listen to me, don't fall asleep, OK? Just talk to me. Just talk. Keep your eyes open."

Autumn mutters something. I tear the bed sheet closest to me and I dab her arm with it, drawing away blood and soaking the sheet crimson red. I tear another piece and begin to wrap it around her arm. Her left hand twitches. "Sorry," I mumble, "but it has to be tight."

I can hear footsteps on the stairs. Fast footsteps.

Then, all of a sudden, Medda is at the door and Denton is close behind her. "Oh, Autumn," she says softly. There are tears welling up in her eyes.

Autumn looks up. It takes her eyes a few seconds to focus. When they do, she licks her chapped lips and whispers, "I'm sorry." And then her eyes close.

"No!" shouts Blink, shaking her head a bit. Autumn's eyelids flutter.

I am wringing the bloody sheet in my hands. Medda and Denton step into the room, promptly taking the place of Blink and I. Denton wafts smelling salts under Autumn's nose and Medda undoes the sheet and pulls a bottle of disinfectant out of her First Aid kit. Autumn rests her head back so that her neck is curved around her bedside table. Her eyes are open, but glazed. Her lips are moving a bit. She's whispering something.

"That's right honey, keep talking to us," says Medda as she rewraps Autumn's arm.

"Kids, I think you should go downstairs. You don't need to see this," Denton tells us.

I hear Blink swallow. "But, Denton—"

"Blink. Please shut the door."

Beside me Blink slowly reaches forward and pulls the door towards us.

Right before the door shuts Autumn opens her mouth to speak. "Don't! DON'T! DON'T CLOSE THE DOOR! OPEN THE DOOR!" she screams, in a feral, high-pitched voice. "BLINK! BLINK! PLEASE!" We can hear struggling sounds, like someone is kicking the floor or a wall. "OPEN THE GODDAMN DOOR!"

So Blink does. When he does, Medda and Denton are holding Autumn's arms and she's staring at us with tears running down her face. "Ask me what's wrong," she hisses.

"What—?" Blink looks confused.

"ASK ME WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG!"

Blink drops to his knees so that he's face-to-face with Autumn. He looks right into her light brown eyes. "What's wrong?"

She opens her mouth and wails. She cries like she's been wounded. I want to look away, but it's like a car crash—I just can't tear my eyes away. She pulls at her hair with both arms, seeming to forget her injured one. When she stops crying, she starts screaming. She throws a pillow at the wall and hurls a picture frame from her bedside table towards a wall, where the glass shatters into a million pieces. Blink looks around as though he doesn't know what to do. Autumn buries her face in her knees and cries and screams and swears. Blink crawls towards her and wraps his arms around her.

"Shh…" he breathes, running his hand down her back. "It's OK. What's wrong? Autumn, what's wrong?"

Autumn rests her head on Blink's shoulder, so that we can see her forehead and her matted hair. I take a step forward and sit down, two steps inside the door. Someone sits down beside me and soon the doorway is filled. I look behind me and everyone is crammed into the room. Charley props her knees on my back and tucks her hands into her sleeves. I reach behind me and take her hand. She smiles a bit. Beside her Coin is biting her nails down to the quick. Boots wraps his arm around her shoulders. Near the back of the room, Andra is rubbing Aurora's back and she has her head resting on Crutchy's shoulder; her eyes half open. David is sitting beside me. He looks over and nudges me a bit with his elbow. I nod and he nods back. Skittery is standing in the doorway and behind him Racetrack silently approaches.

Autumn sighs. "What's wrong, huh?" she laughs a bitter, sniffly laugh. "Where to start?" her voice is a bit muffled, her face buried in Blink's chest. "Sometimes, I miss my daddy. I miss him so much. He was the best dad. The very best…but…but when he died…I was only seven…and my daddy was gone. And my mother used to cry a lot. She was so upset, but she learned how to numb the pain…" Autumn's head comes off of Blink's shoulder. She looks right into Blink's eyes, like he's the only one in the room. "I think I knew what cocaine was before I could do my multiplication tables." She bit her lip hard and tears welled up in her eyes. When she began to speak again, sharp red teeth marks spattered her lower lip. "But she met Mike. Met him at a recovery meeting. She told me he was a good guy. And he would…he would bring me to the zoo and he bought us new clothes…and…and a new car. Then they got married." She frowns and squints her eyes at Blink. "It was a nice wedding. Small though. But my mother wore a nice bl—" she hiccoughs "blue dress, since it was her second marriage. She was clean and sober and happy. I was fifteen and I remember being so proud of her because he beat it. And Mike _was_ I nice guy, I kept telling myself that. Except that there was something about the way he looked at me that made my…it made my skin craw, y'know?"

Blink nods and puts his hand on her shoulder. "And then what?"

"And then what? And then he would but his arm on my back, on the low part—" she hiccoughs again "and I asked him not to, but he just smiled and said I was imagining things." She looks sharply at Blink. "But I _wasn't_ imagining things! I knew it! And I didn't imagine it when he crawled into be with me…or when he took off my nightgown…or when…or when he touched me. But I couldn't say anything. Blink, I just couldn't. My mother was so happy. And I liked seeing her happy. So I just counted the days instead. Two hundred and twenty four days. Two hundred and twenty four days until my guidance counselor told me I was failing three classes and then I told him. And then Mike got arrested. And then my mom found cocaine again. She would scream at me when…when she wasn't so drugged up to forget where she was. And I failed the ninth grade. But…" she starts crying really hard. It is a sloppy type of crying. Charley squeezesmy fingers tighter. David stares at his socks. Autumn wails in a pained tone, "BUT SHE CALLED ME INTO HER ROOM! AND SHE HAD MY DADDY'S PISTOL! 'YOU TOOK AWAY EVERYTHING!' SHE SCREAMED. SHE CALLED ME A 'LITTLE FUCK'." Autumn screams loud and haunting. "And she put the nozzle to her temple and she…and she…and she…."

She cries and she keeps crying. I take Charley's hand and we step towards them. Everyone follows us and we surround them in a hug. David's watch beeps.

"It's Christmas Eve," he whispers. Autumn keeps crying.

**End Chapter**

_((Leaving for London this evening. Please enjoy this while I'm away. I updated fast, eh? Yeah. Please, please, please review!))_


	21. Jules

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing. Not Newsies, not LOVE. NOTHING!

**Title: **Violence Recovery

**Author: **Buttons14

**Genre:** Drama

**Rating:** M (subject to change)

_To accomplish great things, we must not only act, but also dream; not only plan, but also believe._ - Anatole France

**Chapter 21—Jules**

Morning comes late on Christmas Eve. As it rolls in, I find myself relishing that period of momentary amnesia, and I find myself thinking about how soft the bed is and wondering why my head is spinning.

"Hey," whispers Blink. Not really words so much as breaths, "are you awake?"

"Uh huh."

"What are you thinking about?"

I think, my eyes still shut. "How warm the bed is...what about you?"

"Thinking about morning," he pauses and I can hear him shift in bed, his sheets rustling and twirling around him. "Ever notice that morning and mourning sound the same?"

I hadn't… "No."

"Funny though, isn't it? You think that morning is the time when everything is new and alive, but then why does it sound like mourning? Maybe because you are mourning a day past. A day gone that you will never see again…" he trails off, silently, thoughtfully. The night before comes flooding back to me in a wave of anguish and disbelief.

"What about the days that should be celebrated?" I ask after a few minutes.

"I don't know." Then we roll out of bed and go for breakfast.

0o0o0o0

Shortly after lunch Skittery and David stumble though the front door with a fresh green pine tree. Coin, who is holding the door open for them, runs her fingers along the needles, dusting fresh snow onto the floor. David and Skittery set the tree up in the rec room, right beside the TV, so that if you're sitting to the left of it you can't see any of the screen. Boxes of ornaments surface and Medda gathers us around with hot chocolate and Aaron Neville Christmas carols on the stereo. Jack is sitting in an armchair next to the fireplace, nursing his hot chocolate and watching us balance baubles and trinkets on the flimsy green branches. But Autumn's not here.

"She went right to sleep in one of the Blank Rooms after everyone left," Aurora stage whispers. "I peeked before lunch and she was still sleeping. Jules and me, we think…we think she's very sad."

"What's a Blank Room?"

Aurora disappears behind the tree and I lose her for a while, though the question still plays in my mind. Suddenly, as I'm reaching into the ornament box for a teddy bear in a poinsettia-print dress, she pokes her head out and says, "It's a room without any walls!"

"Huh?"

"Walls!" she exclaims, lovingly picking her way though the box for a certain ornament. "Blank! They're white and bor-ing! It's like they're not there. Jules and I, we feel sorry for them."

I remember the room with the water and fire, with the flower and smoke. The images on the wall in thick, vibrant, alive paint. I think of my room next, whitewashed walls, a little scuffed around the doorway, but dull nonetheless. "Why do you feel sorry for them?"

She twirls a candy cane around her finger. "Aren't you listening Spotty? Because _it's like they're not there_! It's like no one sees them. I used to feel like that sometimes." And then she turns and waltzes towards the coffee table for some hot chocolate. I follow her.

"You _used_ to feel like that?"

"Uh huh." Aurora dropped three marshmallows into her hot chocolate. "When I was at The House. It was very big and my dad, his name was Frank, he gave me a big room. I loved that room! All of my friends lived there. There was Danny and Emma and Jules!"

I hang a silver icicle on the tree. "Who's Jules exactly Aurora?"

She laughs and twirls in a circle before balancing a papier maché wreath on a protruding bough. "Can't you see her Spot? She's right here!" she gestures to the empty space beside her. I don't answer, but she continues. "It's OK if you don't see her. She's like those walls sometimes. People see right through them. People don't see though me though, not since I met Jules and Danny and Emma. Emma used to love Christmas time."

"And what happened to her?"

Aurora prods one of the marshmallows so that it turns brown with chocolate. "Frank told me that I was crazy, that they weren't real. So I went to a doctor who hooked me up to a machine. Emma didn't like it and one day she was gone. So was Danny, but Jules stayed with me. That's how I know she's my best friend. She'll never leave me. I thought Danny came back a while ago, but it wasn't him. All that Danny wanted was to be inside of me. I told him I didn't like it, but he did it anyways, and _my_ Danny would never do something like that. Then those men with the glasses found me and they brought me here." Noisily, Aurora slurps her hot chocolate. "I liked them. They were nice."

"They were, weren't they?" I ponder aloud. Aurora nods happily and dips a shortbread cookie into her drink, and it brings up mushy bits of marshmallow with it. "Aurora, what does Jules look like?"

Aurora smiles. "Oh, she's really pretty. She's got straight brown hair and a green eye and a purple eye and she's athletic and she's got a birthmark, right here," she points to her lower arm. "It looks just like the little dipper." The loose sleeve of her black shirt slips up and I can see a birthmark, just like the one on Jules. "I can set you guys up, if you want. She'd like that. Jules is tired of being invisible."

0o0o0o0

For Christmas Eve dinner we all sit around the dining room table and dig into our favourite foods. Tacos for Jack, meatloaf and roast potatoes for Andra and David, pizza for Ele, Crutchy and Charley, cabbage rolls for Coin, pork chops for Aurora, chicken chow mein for Racetrack and Boots, spaghetti for Autumn and Skittery and a Burger King hamburger for me. We all had to take care of our own food. I picked up extra fries and they're spread around the table, everyone is digging in and chatting. I'm sitting right next to Aurora who is eating pork chops and pepperonis from Coin's pizza with her fingers.

"Psst, Spotty," Aurora real-whispers this time, "want to hear what my Christmas present is for everyone?"

I swallow a bite of my Whopper and tilt my head towards her curiously. "Sure."

"I'm painting a Blank Room." She holds a finger to her lips. "Want to see it?"

I smile and dip a fry into ketchup. "Yeah."

As dinner winds down Aurora takes me, by the hand, and leads me upstairs. The whole while she is holding her finger over her lips and moving stealthily. The steps don't even creak as we walk on them. She takes me down the girls' hall and into the very last room. All of the furniture is covered with plastic sheets and one wall has been painted fresh black. It still looks sticky. "What do you think?" she asks happily, turning towards me and clapping her hands together.

"Need some help?"

0o0o0o0

I fall asleep on the floor of the ex-Blank Room. Aurora is lying next to me, her hands resting beneath her chin. In the morning she is in the same position. I stand up and the plastic covering crackles every time I move. The room is one-half black walls, covered with 80's-style bright pink, blue and yellow design. The other half is earthy browns, greens and reds in neat stripes of different thickness.

"It looks nice, doesn't it?"

Aurora is sitting up and looking around.

"It looks very nice," I agree.

We go downstairs and help set the table for breakfast. Sixteen spaces, I count. I count again. One for each of us, plus one for Jules, it should be. "Aurora…where's Jules going to sit?"

Aurora looks up at me a blinks. "Jules who?"

0o0o0o0

By dinner time we are all feeling the Christmas cheer. Specs, Dutchy and Sapphy surprised us, showing up with boxes of candy canes and Christmas crackers. Aurora's room was well-received, as were the mixed tapes I made for everyone. Everything from ACDC to the Smiths to Destiny's Child. David bought us all second-hand books, Racetrack bought season one of Friends on DVD for the rec room, Jack got us each personalized playing cards with our pictures on them, Blink gave us cards saying that he'd donated money in each of our names to a charity, Ele made us each of sketch of ourselves when we weren't paying attention, Charley gave us each coffee blends that she though 'seemed like us', Boots gave us each different-coloured shoelaces, Crutchy found old Chinese lanterns in every colour from red to black, Coin knitted us each scarves with stripes and polka dots, and Skittery wrote poems about us, three each on fancy pressed paper, haiku, free verse and rhyming.

Every inch of the table was covered in food. Turkey, potatoes, sweet potatoes, ham, salad, carrots, and even lasagna.

"Toast, toast!" cried Skittery, raising his glass to Denton. Crutchy seconded it and soon we were all calling for a toast.

Denton stood up, smiling, and silenced us with a wave of his hand. He closed his eyes and thought, the smile slowly falling off his face.

"New York," says Denton clearly, raising his glass steadily, "is a large place. We see people every day, we sometimes know them or will know them soon. Others we will never meet again as long as we live. We may sit next to an ex-con on the subway, or pass a rapist on the streets. We can not escape reality, but just because we see these people, does not mean we are victims to them. You can not be afraid of the world, you must embrace it. Give thanks every day that you are not dead. Some days you may wish you were, but death is far worse than a life never lived at all."

For a minute only silence fills the room. Denton takes a long swig from his glass and places the cup down.

Autumn begins to applaud.

Yes, that Autumn. She doesn't appear at all self-conscious, she just brings her hands together again and again. Quickly Jack and Skittery join in and soon we are all clapping. It is a strange, booming clap. There is no cheering or whistling, just the thunderous roar of our hands.

Denton sinks to his chair and shuts his eyes. Autumn is smiling slightly, the corners of her peach lips tilting towards her eyes. Her eyes. Everyone's.

I look around at a transformed group. There is a sparkle, a shine, a liveliness about us. Denton's words bounce from the walls, fresh in our minds.

Truth: the thing that saved my life.

**The End**

_((And so it ends. Thanks for all your support everyone through this fic. Sorry for taking so long to complete it, but hopefully it was worth the wait. Keep the peace y'all! xoxButtonsxox))_


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